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With pencil^ brush & chisel 


q759.36 F95 
.Fuchs Gift 

il t - brush 

, ACC. No. 994577 

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Emil Pucks 

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G.P. Putnam* s Sons 

Copyright, 1933 

Bmil Pttchs 

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Made in the United States of America 

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1LTHOUGH Vienna was, and still is, one of the most 
beautiful cities in Europe with its extensive boulevards, 
its monumental buildings and Imperial Parks stretching 
to the Danube, I always felt that the world which it 
represented was too narrow for me. Only my father's solicitude for my 
welfare deterred me from tearing my bonds asunder, and it was not 
until he was summarily taken from me and I was thrown upon my own 
responsibilities, that there being no longer any tie strong enough to hold 
me at home, I started out, 

^Destiny has carried me into many countries: Germany, France, Eng 
land, Italy and Holland, Canada, Cuba and America. Everywhere I 
have worked and met interesting people, and what I have beheld has 
remained imprinted on my memory. 

The favor of the highest in the land has been bestowed upon me; it 
was my good fortune to meet some of the most exalted. But, however 
great their cordiality, I have always remembered that no amount of 
stretching my neck would help me to become a swan, and so I have been 
content to be what I am. 

zJtiCy only pride is in the consciousness that if I have achieved at all, 
1 did it alone: and for my failures no one can blame me more than I 
blame myself. 


NEW YORK, October, 1924 


WAS born to other things." Writing is about the 
last I ever expected to attempt, but since I have 
sinned I shall at least try to offer my explanation. 
It is all simple and natural, as is any phenomenon 
after it has been elucidated. 
Last January Harvey W. Corbett, while posing for his bust, 
asked me to speak before the Architectural League, to help them in 
their publicity campaign, so that the forthcoming exhibition would 
yield as many as possible of the needed half-dollars which are the 
mainstay of its existence. The friendly suggestion from the president 
of such an honorable institution is a command to be executed to the 
best of one's ability. 

I therefore removed the dust from my long-hidden album and 
photographed its contents, to be duly thrown on the architectural 
screen. While I fervently longed for the moment when, after the 
talk, my troubles would end, I was soon compelled to admit that 
they had only begun. From all sides I was approached by appeals 
to publish my sketches and recollections. They varied from a 
request for a laconic statement to an encyclopedical tome. One 
young woman who represented a popular daily was so solicitous for 
my reaching the " highest heaven " that my excuses and protesta 
tions seemed to avail nothing. She even offered herself as collabo 
rator with that smile which can make and has unmade continents. 
But so wholly was I imbued with the picture of failure and ridicule 
that for once I remained unconquered. 



An ill wind must have blown in my direction a little seed which 
began presently to germinate. I soon saw myself as one of those 
fellows who, all his life having been no more than one in a large crowd, 
finds himself -unexpectedly precipitated to the front line with an 
unobstructed outlook; more, I envisioned myself raised to a platform 
while the "numberless throng" breathlessly awaited the first words, 
ready to grasp the novice and relegate him into the oblivion whence 
he had emerged. This fired my rising ambition. At least, I thought, 
the game should be worth a trial. 

In such a delicate situation it is not easy to know who is the 
somebody to consult. But I was fortunate, I took my friend 
Joseph Leyendecker into my confidence and showed him the material, 
Through his affiliation with The Saturday Evening Post the subject 
came to the attention of one of the editors, who, a few days later, 
came to see me. He was agreeable, perhaps a little on his guard, as 
a man must needs be who is constantly being asked to do things, 
which to decline requires all the delicacy in the art of refusal When 
he saw the illustrations he became curious. He followed up the 
progress of my quill driving. By and by he became interested and 
finally even helpful. 

Also George Palmer Putnam the publisher delved into my coup 
de plume and what he proposed was so tempting that I decided to 
ascertain first what sort of organization he represented. In the 
guise of a bibliophile I sauntered into their store and offices and 
subjected them to critical scrutiny. There I beheld a wealth of 
rare books and the workings of a great enterprise. To be in such 
company was inviting; I hurried home to sign my contract lest my 
publisher change his mind. 

Then came the question of the serial rights. My friend of The 
Saturday Evening Post seemed pleased enough, but there still was 
the Supreme Court in Philadelphia to finally decide. In my mind's 
eye I saw a stern gentleman in a magnificent office, surrounded by 
countless manuscripts. An affirmative decision from him is of such 


far-reaching benefit that I fancy his smile alone would cause the writer 
to feel like 

' " A happy soul, that all the way 
To heaven hath a summer's day." 

However, once more my misgivings were dissipated. I am brav 
ing the prospect of seeing myself in print in that periodical which is 
the coveted vehicle of all authors. 

Other publications must have learned of my literary utopisms. 

Perhaps in a spirit of curiosity they approached me and I saw no 
special reason why their inquiring minds should not be gratified. 
One day a very young man presented a letter from his sub-editor and 
asked leave to see the material. He confessed that he invoked first 
the assistance of the Metropolitan Museum in finding out about me 
and the result must have been reassuring, for here he was, with an 
ample brief case and such an air of importance that I was tempted to 
say, like Lord Rothschild, "Please take two chairs/' 

After reading a few chapters he asked if he might take them to 
the sub-editor or possibly to the editor himself. I said I was dis 
inclined to part with the manuscript, but I should be glad to welcome 
his sub and chief editors into the privacy of my studio. 

He apparently resented my underestimating the importance of 
his paper, for he drew himself up and said: " Perhaps I better give 
you my personal opinion. I don't think your narratives would be 
of sufficient interest to our readers. But why not try The Saturday 
Evening Post? They sometimes handle such material." I thanked 
him profusely for the suggestion. 

Now that all is arranged, I am like the little boy who launches his 
toy boat on the pond; he looks apprehensively at the sky, anxiously 
noting from which direction the wind comes and figuring its effect 
on his small craft. 



CHAPTER I Early youth a Divine friend Sarah Bernhardt Musical Vienna 1888 3 

CHAPTER 2 Academy Berlin Kaiser's "warlordings" in art the Empress and her 

boys On to Rome 1 3 

CHAPTER 3 The materialization of a thousand dreams Roman Society Queen 
Margherita her reverence for things artistic Sargent Paderewski and 
his timely gloriole 23 

CHAPTER 4 Arrival in London Dividing line of two great epochs "some touch of 

Nature's genial glow" the inconsistency of a vainglorious mother . . 35 

CHAPTER 5 First years in London Convivial companionship at Pagani's Lady 
Randolph Churchill work for the Marlboroughs embarrassing visit 
to Blenheim Har court Pinero Forbes-Robertson Herbert Tree 
George Alexander 44 

CHAPTER 6 Paderewski at Merges Prince of Wales' first visit to the studio . . . 6 1 
CHAPTER 7 Christmas of 1899 at Sandringham 69 

CHAPTER 8 The Rothschilds Ferrieres-sur-Marne a ceremonious dinner a musicale 
amidst difficulties Sir Edgar Speyer, Baronet the Beresfords a critical 
dissection of some censorious critics Laszlo and Mensdorif . . . . 85 

CHAPTER 9 Queen Victoria summoned to Windsor 101 

CHAPTER IO Antonio Mancini and his artistic eccentricities first excursions into the 

Realm of color Sargent's generous help no 

CHAPTER 1 1 Second visit to Sandringham the large Birthday gathering a rare oppor 
tunity for sketching the Corn wall is- Wests the Wertheimers . . .115 

CHAPTER 12 Another summons to Windsor Memorial for the Queen's grandson 

Her Majesty's last days the momentous night of January twenty-third 128 

CHAPTER 1 3 The Edwardian Postage stamps a visit to the Court of Coburg a singular 

coincidence at Beyreuth 138 

CHAPTER 14 The brush becomes a rival to the chisel Le Marquis de Several Sir 
Ernest Cassel Maud Ashley Sir Felix Semon's unappreciated efforts in 
entertaining Mrs. Bischoffsheim's culinary proficiencies 150 



CHAPTER 15 Coronation medals Lord and Lady Normanton Margot Asquith's amus 
ing indelicacy Visit to Balmoral de Martino's dietetic dilemma- 
Portraits and portraiture 160 

CHAPTER 1 6 Icy hospitality at the Royal Academy Alma-Tadcma Mond father and 

Mond son a blithsome smile of Goddess Destiny . , . , . . .171 

CHAPTER 17 Abbey Lodge "that goal that lies beyond the purchase of the world" . . 1 79 

CHAPTER 1 8 First visit to the United States "embarras de richcsse" and some doubtful 
consequences Priceless "Old Masters" of yesterday and today Goulds, 
Guinesses, Goelets a superman in literary affectation 1 88 

CHAPTER 19 Visits to Cuba and Canada Clare Shciidan the gold of silence minus 

glitter 206 

CHAPTER 20 Sitters "to be" and "not to be" 214 

CHAPTER 2 1 Maeterlinck Belasco's becoming isolation Pupils 21 g 

CHAPTER 22 Models , 226 

CHAPTER 23 Actions and reactions * , . 235 

CHAPTER 24. A moment's halt a glance around a glimpse into a world of glorious 

sublimity t 242 



EMIL FUCHS Frontispiece 

MOTHER-LOVE ........... 28 





LA PENSIEROSA .......... 37 





PADEREWSKI ........... 48 

























PHILOMENA ........... 9& 

LORD BALFOUR ........... 9^ 



SIR ROBERT L. BORDEN ......... 97 




LINDLEY M. GARRISON . . , . . . * .113 

SIR JAMES REID .......... 120 

YSAYE ....... ..... 120 




EDOARDO DE MARTINO ......... lai 




* * * JL. X 









W9 ' 137 







MRS. MARSHALL FIELD, III ........ 145 
























TAMARA -.,..,.,,,, 107 





BETTY 204 





ETHELMARY OAKLAND . . . , % ^ ^ 2|2 


GIRL WITH FAN ... ^ r 
" > . . 216 




DAWN . . . . 217 


Miss REBA OWEN 221 



MRS. LEWIS CHANDLER ......... 228 












With Pencil, Brush, and Chisel 


" Youththe glad season of life. " (Carlyle.) 

IKE so many parents whose children's welfare is the 
fundamental consideration of their existence, mine 
also were gravely concerned about the future of their 
only remaining boy, who had been placed in this 
world just after an elder brother in an unguarded 
moment, playing before an open fire, caught a cinder on one of his 
curls and ended his young life almost before it had begun. This was 
probably why the newcomer was doubly surrounded with anxious 
care and affection after his appearance on this stage where tragedy 
and comedy succeed each other in endless variation, and are enacted 
with such elemental force that not a few of the actors look implor 
ingly at the curtain above and wonder when it will be lowered, too 
often indifferent as to whether or not the exit is by the right door. 

This affection of my parents was my stage. The light effects were 
produced only by warm colors; the words I heard spoken were modu 
lated by the tenderness of parental love; the setting was an idyll, 
flowers and sunshine the Kingdom of Dreams. Even today I live 
happily in that land of mystery and still enjoy each passing moment, 
blessing the dawning morrow. 

But I have learned that just to play the part to the best of one's 
ability does not alone make for success. We need the collaboration of 



the other actors, even the goodwill of those who do not act with us. 
These are essential ingredients, and their omission gives to life the 
flavor of unseasoned food; no matter how well it may be prepared, 
there is something lacking. And that something is the human 

My mother's kin had, with united efforts, made for themselves 
name and wealth. My father's people were poor. He was the 
youngest of a large number of brothers and sisters, all of whom seemed 
satisfied with their lot in a little village in Hungary. Not so my 
father. He left at an early age to mould his own destiny. He went 
to the nearest town and accepted a place in a small commercial house 
at the bottom of the ladder, whose steep steps he climbed untiringly 
until he reached a level where he felt he might aspire to the hand of 
one of the daughters of his patron. He proposed and was accepted, 
and they went to live in Vienna. There he established himself with 
nothing more than a good name, valuable experience, determination 
to succeed and the affection of a consort to whom he was accustomed 
to look up, and whom he worshiped ever more through the years. 

Soon after I was sent to school, my mother's health became deli 
cate, and she had to spend the winters in the south and the summers 
in the mountains. Thus I grew up at the side of my father, who be 
came my adviser, friend and companion. In fact, he was everything 
to me and the gentle care with which he guarded my existence was 
such that I never felt the need or desire to associate with my school 
mates. My lonely childhood opened a world for me, a world which 
kept me unaware of the shadows which are the complement of light, 
I was a dreamer. Even while still very young, beautiful things 
caused in me an emotion of happiness. There was always the craving 
to express myself in some form of imagery. I would write poetry or 
sketch or would compose tunes which, however discordant they may 
have been to others, unfolded lovely pictures to my gaze. What I 
could not express in language of my own, 1 borrowed from Heine, 


Goethe, Felix Dahn, Th6ophile Gautier and Alfred de Musset my 
companions who could make me weep or sigh or spur me on to such 
heights of enthusiasm that I wanted to set out and conquer the world. 

To lay claim to having been a good scholar would be to flatter my 
self undeservedly. Actually, I had difficulty to squeeze through the 
semesters and I seldom came out unscathed, for I bore several 
scratches and a few hard knocks. The one course in which I excelled 
was modeling. Small wonder. I spent all my spare time in that 
room. My first teacher was an old sculptor of animals and the 
quantities of dogs' heads that he made me copy would have decorated 
a fair-sized kennel. To me it was such joy to mess about in that fas 
cinating clay, which yielded so pliantly to the slightest impress of my 
fingers, but I neglected to note that while it was excellent for my 
ambition, it never improved my appearance. 

As I grew older, I understood better and better what my father 
meant to me. I saw that he deprived himself of comforts to give 
me luxuries. He would often speak of the pleasure it was for him 
to permit me to study anything I wanted to, because that was a 
f drm of patrimony from which no one could separate me. But I did 
not know then that my enchanted days entailed sleepless nights for 
him who denied me nothing. 

Having built up a little business of which he was justly proud, he 
looked forward to the time when I should be able to help him. Noth 
ing would have given me greater satisfaction. After leaving college 
I did enter his firm with the resolve to lighten his burden, but I did 
not know how to make myself even useful. It was painful to us both 
to him because he soon saw that I had no aptitude for commerce, 
and it grieved me beyond compare when I knew that I could be of no 
service to him. And when, in later years, I might at least have re 
turned his munificence in some small measure, it was too late his 
summons had come to join the innumerable caravan. 

While at school, not content to spend all my leisure time drawing 
and modeling, I could not resist making cartoons on the margins of 


my textbooks. Aside from the infraction of discipline, it destroyed 
the saleability of the books to the incoming class. One of these un 
timely sketches was of a teacher and cost me a demerit mark in de 
portment at an unpropitious moment, for I had arrived at the period 
of my final examinations. He said nothing but simply opened a large 
class-book and placed a mark against my name which I was certain 
was not favorable. This alarmed me so much that in my despair at 
the ultimate penalty (the relinquishing of my privilege to serve 
one year instead of three years in military training), I went straight 
to him with my book and asked him if it was fair to punish me for 
making a really complimentary likeness of him. He looked at it 
and, in casually turning over the leaves, recognized the features of 
some of my schoolmates and seemed to be amused. There were 
others of himself, not so flattering, and it made me tremble as he 
approached those pages, but they too seemed to amuse him. 

He invited me to come to see him at his home that afternoon and 
bring my books, so I journeyed forth on a pilgrimage to the outlying 
suburb where he lived in a small apartment at the top of a shabby 
house. I was shown into his study by a grumpy old housekeeper. 
There he sat buried in mountains of book; books everywhere on 
shelves, on the floor, on chairs, on tables, even tinder the tables. He 
invited me to sit down and tell him about myself. There was little 
to tell; just the story of a boy who craved to be an artist, but whose 
family opposed it. And now this unfortunate incident in the class 
room and the dreary prospect of years of military service on account 
of my low mark in deportment . . . all this I told him while he in 
spected my textbooks, occasionally breaking into hearty laughter. 
He was no longer the stern schoolmaster keeping his boys in order. 
He was natural, human. 

After hearing my tale of woe he said, " Don't worry. I will do all 
I can to help you. No one can really know the extent of your talent, 
but I see enough to be convinced that the life of an artist means yow 
happiness. So go home and keep on working/' 


I had made a friend that afternoon. 

This was the first occasion in facing an almost insurmountable 
obstacle (the necessity for serving those two extra years in the Gov 
ernment barracks), when I felt urged by an unseen force to act 
promptly and without premeditation. To approach a master as I 
had, was an unheard-of presumption. This and other later instances 
taught me to act on impulse, even in important decisions, permitting 
myself to be guided by those unnamed powers which seem to in 
fluence the trend of our thought, just as the invisible rays or waves 
transmit sound, and even envisage pictures, thousands of miles away. 
The mere fact that we call it something, fate or destiny or providence, 
proves that it must have manifested itself to countless others. 

My unusual action had far-reaching consequences. This un 
known man spent his days in a classroom harassed by a lot of unruly 
youngsters, and his nights among his beloved books. In his ob 
scurity he was one day sought and appointed secretary of the treasury 
for the Austrian Empire. How this came about was in itself a 

From time to time he had issued pamphlets on national and 
economic questions. It was then the only possible way of criticizing 
government measures by a private citizen, the welfare of whose father 
land was his chief consideration. In due course, these brochures 
came to the knowledge of the old emperor. Especially was Francis 
Joseph interested in a series of articles ia which the writer undertook 
to prove that if the Austrian currency could be brought to a par with 
the currencies of France, Germany and Italy, that stabilizing act 
would have a lasting effect upon the prosperity of the empire. So 
impressed was the sovereign with these essays that, when a change 
in the cabinet took place, he offered to unknown Doctor Steinbach 
the portfolio of the Treasury. 

And Steinbach proved to be the right man in the right place. 
What he advocated in writing, he was able to put into effect. In a 
few years the new system of Austrian currency proved so successful, 


that even today it is still a legal tender and will probably continue 
so for years to come. 

Having passed my examinations with the help of my new-found 
friend, my father allowed me to enroll at the Imperial Academy of 
Fine Arts. After my brief business career, he was convinced that 
it would be better to let me follow my own inclinations. 

The teacher of sculpture at the Academy was Professor Helkner, 
His class was popular and crowded, so that he could give only a few 
minutes to each individual. The best pupils he taught in his private 
studio, thus removing these shining lights from our sight. But this 
did not matter much; to view their work would not have helped 
materially, as the academies reach only the humbler disciples of art. 
Even those who have arrived at the top of the academic ladder have 
rarely attained more than mediocrity. One has only to study the 
list of the hundreds who have won the coveted prix de Rome in the 
various countries, to be assured that this was their only achievement, 
if it may be designated thus rather than as a lucky chance. 

The reason for this is simple. To succeed in art, more than talent 
is needed. That is only the foundation; the edifice itself requires 
many component parts, the omission of any one of which will be 
noticeable in the work imagination, sentiment, perseverance, assi 
duity, untiring devotion. It is because of the exigencies of this pro 
fession that so few succeed, and these, indifferent to the dictates of 
fashion, the critics, the dealers or the public, have silently followed 
their own path, finding their way instinctively through the labyrinths- 
Even if they are not permitted to see the end of the road and the 
clearing beyond, their days have at least been filled with ttnalloyed 

It was in the year 1888, while I was at the Academy, that Sarah 
Bernhardt, then at the zenith of her fame, was touring Europe* Her 
success was astounding. Although she played in French, the Vienna 
theater sold out every night. At the stage door hundreds of people 
waited for her to come out, when she would toss among them frag- 


merits of the lace handkerchief which she tore so effectively into 
shreds in La Dame aux Camelias. No wonder I caught the con 
tagious fever. Night after night I too waited in the dark passages 
at the stage door in the hope of catching a glimpse of her as she 
passed. One day I took my courage in my hands and wrote her 
asking if she would grant me the honor of a few sittings for a small 
bust, which I would be happy to offer her should she think it worthy 
of acceptance. To my note came this reply: 

Je vous recevrai demain, Samedi, & quatre heures et je me prterai 
avec plaisir & votre f antaisie artistique. 

(I shall receive you tomorrow, Saturday, at four and shall lend myself 
with pleasure to your artistic fancy.) 

This was about the biggest thing that could have happened to 
me. I began the bust in wax and, with the aid of photographs, worked 
at it day and night until I finished it such as it was. In a turmoil 
of excitement I waited at my studio. The time passed but there was 
no sign of the divine Sarah. I waited on, until finally I took up her 
letter again to make sure that the engagement was written there, 
black on white. There really was hardly need of that since I knew 
the letter by heart. But as I scanned it again, and this time more 
carefully, I discovered that I had read the first three words " Je vous 
verrai" (I shall see you), assuming that this would mean at my 
improvised studio. When I realized my error, I had barely time 
enough to hurry to her hotel and to throw myself upon her mercy. 

She was in her drawing room presiding at tea and was surrounded 
by a crowd of illustrious visitors. Behind her chair stood her hus 
band, Damala, the handsome Damala, whom she had married and 
divorced and remarried again. Though he had no talent, he played 
in her company the part of the leading juvenile. But what did that 
matter? He looked the part and she possessed the gifts. Besides, 
everyone knew that he had been her dressmaker and that she had 


fallen in love with him. Because of this he was more interesting to 
the crowd than a Charles Keane or a Henry Irving. 

This throng about Madame Bemhardt I had to face, and I stam 
mered my excuses as best I knew how. They all laughed heartily. 
I produced the bust I had made. It was shown around to everyone, 
and I suppose this must have been another cause of the hilarity. 
Very graciously, however, she invited me to come up on the stage 
that night. And when I came, hanging on her every word and 
gesture, she presented me, after the big love scene in Camille, with a 
piece of the coveted handkerchief and even wrote a few words on it. 
My state by that time can be imagined. 

A little later I received another note from her, which read as 

Je vous en prie, cher Monsieur Fuchs, remettons la pose de mon petit 
joli bust & mon retour. Je me sens trop suffrante aujourcThui, Je vais 
me mettre dans mon lit pour pouvoir jouer ce soir. Venez ce soir dans 
mon loge pour que je vous serre la main. 

Si vous venez & Budapesth, je poserai bien. 

Mille amities, 


(I beg of you, dear Mr. Puchs, to postpone the sittings for my nice 
little bust -until my return. I feel too unwell today. I am going to lie 
down so as to be able to play tonight. Come tonight to my dressing room 
so that I can shake hands with you. 

If you come to Budapesth, I shall give you good sittings. 

A thousand kind regards, 


I had a wild impulse to follow in her train with my poor bust, 
Unfortunately I found that my means would not permit of such ex 
travagance. For a long time my heart ached and for many days 
after I kept running to my door to see whether the hoped-for letter 


from Madame Bernhardt had arrived. But it never came. Time 
is a kind friend and a great physician and it mended my broken 

While passionately bent upon sculpture and drawing, I was also a 
student of music. Thanks to the generosity of my father, who 
showed me no end of kindness and indulgence, I was able to study 
the piano at the Vienna Conservatory, and that has greatly enriched 
my life. At that period, Vienna was the center of music. At the 
Boesendorfer Hall I heard the d6buts of most of the artists who 
have since then become famous the world over. It was here that I 
first heard Paderewski, Busoni, Moritz Rosenthal, Arthur Friedheim 
(the favorite pupil of Liszt), de Pachmann, Kreisler and, last but not 
least, the great Anton Rubinstein himself. 

Paderewski was then about twenty-eight years old, very slender and 
with a mane of reddish golden hair, which made his magnificent head 
still more magnificent. After one of his concerts at the Boesendorfer 
Hall, I was asked to a Bohemian beer party at an inn nearby, where 
Paderewski's teacher, Leschetitzky, was the guest of the evening. It 
was a great gathering. Never before had Leschetitzky, perhaps the 
world's foremost teacher of piano, appeared so radiant. His presence 
in itself was an event. Once he rose and made a brief speech sketch 
ing out the future of his gifted pupil, and all his hearers felt that 
Paderewski's career was bound to be a glorious one. And every 
augury of that night has been amply confirmed. 

Johann Strauss, the immortal composer of waltzes and ball-room 
tunes, was nightly producing his music at the Theater on the Wien. 
The most famous of his operettas were coming out in uninterrupted 
successes. The Bat, The Gypsy Baron, The Blue Danube all appeared 
at this time. He composed them, oddly enough, upon an organ 
which he had built in his palatial home. If there is any one instru 
ment one does not associate with this light music, it is an organ. 

It was my good fortune also to meet Johannes Brahms. The 
collecting of autographs of famous men is still a hobby with some 


people as it was then, and I called to ask that I be permitted to add 
his signature to my treasured group. 

Most of his later years he spent in seclusion in a fashionable 
suburb named Landstrasse. Like Steinbach, he was a bachelor and, 
if there be any truth in the words of Goethe that every genius is 
linked to his century by one failing, their housekeepers must have 
been their weak spots for these two men were completely under their 
dominion, and to gain admission to the presence of either, one had to 
resort to all sorts of devices to get into the good graces of the monitors, 

It seemed inconceivable that Brahms could have written those ten 
der songs so characteristic of him, for there was no poetic tendency 
discernible in the man. He was short and stout with long hair and 
beard, and he spoke brusquely in the hard, unsympathetic dialect 
of the North. He received me in the midst of his work, carelessly 
attired and wearing loose, felt slippers. Having succeeded in pene 
trating his sanctum, I accomplished my object, but judging by the 
manner in which he received me mine was only a Pyrrhic victory, 

To listen to music, to play, to sculpt, to drawthat was my life 
at this period in Vienna. It was all like some delightful revel. And 
indeed, revels were not wanting. Upon the occasion of the marriage 
of the Crown Prince Rudolph the city of Vienna arranged a pageant 
which was the most splendid that her artists could invent. The 
particular author of this was Hans Makart, a historical painter 
whose pictures, The Entry of Charles V into Antwerp, The Dream 
after the Ball, and The Hunt of Diana (the last two in the Metro 
politan Museum in New York), made his fame world-wide. He 
often came to visit my parents and upon one of these occasions my 
father ventured to show him a part of his pageant which I had copied 
from the illustrated booklets that were sold in the town, Hans 
Makart scrutinized my drawings carefully. 

"The blanks are the best/' he remarked after a pause. 


How happy is he born and taught that serveth not another's will." (Wotton.) 

WAS barely twenty-two when I lost both my parents. 
My fate was now in my own hands, and after a short 
stay with Professor Helkner in Vienna I decided to 
try my luck with Professor Schaper in Berlin. I dis 
mantled my studio, packed my belongings and left 
/r" Vienna, never to live there again. When I came to Berlin and 
(I showed my work to Professor Schaper, he informed me that I knew 
nothing about sculpture. He only told me what I already suspected. 
But I was pained to realize that the fact was so apparent. With 
much persuasion I induced him to give me a trial, and he accepted 
(0 me at last as one of his pupils. 

n Here I had my chance. I could study, and study undisturbed 
in Berlin, as I had never studied in Vienna. And here I may say 

ft* I made the best use of my opportunities. After a year's work I 
was rewarded with the privilege of having a small studio of my own 
at the Berlin Royal Academy. Some other minor compensations 
which came at this time were also encouraging. It appeared to me 

Othat the best use I could make of my private studio was to compete 
for one of the scholarships which the Academy had it in its power 
to confer. And I had only just reached the minimum age for com 
petition -twenty-four when I was lucky enough to be the Thinner. 
Anton von Werner was the director of the Academy at Berlin. 
"The great Anton von Werner," he was called. It was said of him 
that he could put more art into the painting of a soldier 's boots than 



others could put into the face. His studio at the Academy was 
filled to overflowing with patriotic pictures. He painted the Procla 
mation of William the Great as Emperor at Versailles, the Negotia 
tion of Peace at Versailles in which Bismarck forces Thiers to sign the 
Treaty, and innumerable other historic canvases. 

Von Werner was considered an institution in German art second 
only to the great Menzel, his illustrious contemporary. The Acad 
emy was proud of possessing so distinguished a leader. And excel 
lent he doubtless was for that particular post. His speeches at the 
beginning and end of each term were considered classics of their kind. 
Even in my brief stay there, two things which he said still linger in 
my memory. At his opening address he took a piece of chalk, and 
holding it up, declared: 

11 Talent is one. It is the basis of art. Without it any amount of 
industry is of no value/' 

Then he added a zero and held the one beside it. "But," he went 
on, "talent and industry combined make ten." 

At another time he said, " Academies are only for mediocrity. 
They are the crutches upon which art students learn to walk. But 
some of the students are born with wings those are the geniuses. 
To them the academy is only a hindrance." When, before starting 
for Italy, I took leave of him, he gave me another grain from his supply 
of wisdom: "If the world praises you, it is good; if it abuses you, 
that is not bad; but beware if it passes you in silence." 

Had anybody told him at that time that his pictures would be 
almost forgotten even before his death, he would have been astounded. 
So imbued was he with the sense of his own greatness and importance, 
with such deference was he treated by the high and lowly, that nothing 
but eternity could have appeared to him as a possible measure of his 
fame's duration. 

At this period, during the Emperor William's reign, art was like 
soldiering, a matter of discipline. The highest form was the military 
picture or the monuments or memorials commemorating heroes of the 


Franco-Prussian war. As in everything else the Kaiser's decision 
was final; here also his taste was prescriptive. From one studio to 
another would he go, inspecting the work; and sometimes he would 
even take the pencil or the modeling tool and show how he desired 
this or that to be done. One creation of his fertile mind was the 
Alley of Victory, the Sieges Allee in the Tiergarten in Berlin. There 
he erected at his own expense a row of marble benches, fifty or more 
of them, adorned with the figures and busts of all the great soldiers 
and statesmen from the period of Frederick the Great to his own 
time. Even in Berlin this Sieges Allee has been called the "alley of 
abominations," which one would not be surprised to see demolished 
one of these days. 

How pernicious the Kaiser's meddling ultimately became is well 
illustrated by the .case of Princess Lwoff Parlaghy, a painter who 
only recently died in New York. In 1890 she was still young and 
attractive and not without a certain talent. She called herself "one 
of the few pupils of Lenbach." When the Emperor heard of her he 
commanded her to paint his portrait. The result cannot have been 
distinguished in view of the fact that the jury of the Spring Exhibi 
tion in Berlin dared to reject it notwithstanding the identity of the 
sitter. They did reject it, nevertheless, and their act caused some 
thing like consternation. Upon learning of it the Kaiser immediately 
ordered the portrait to be hung. When the list of medals and other 
honors was submitted to him for approval, a customary procedure, 
he cancelled the name of Wallot, the architect who had just 
completed the capitol at Berlin, a public building considered one of 
the finest in Germany. The medal of First Award which was to 
have gone to Wallot was conferred by the Kaiser upon Irma 

Among artists there was great though futile indignation at this 
royal action. Wallot left Berlin and settled in Dresden. There he 
was at once surrounded by a host of admiring and loyal pupils, and 
there he died with the reputation of being one of the most notable 


architects of his time without the medal. The Princess Parlaghy, 
upon the other hand, despite all her honors and decorations, could not 
make a living. She died some months ago in New York in poverty, 
just when the sheriff was about to seal up her house and studio, 

One day I received a commission to make an equestrian statuette 
of the Kaiser, in silver. This was to be given as a racing trophy. 
The commission came in the ordinary course of events from the 
Court jewelers, who had inquired at the academy concerning a stu 
dent sculptor competent to do the work. So many portraits were 
constantly being done of the "all highest war lord," that artists of my 
modest standing could obtain their sittings only from the uniform 
which was held for such purposes and the loan of the " Vice-Kaiser." 
This person was a servant in the Imperial household whose figure, 
weight and proportions came as near as possible to the Emperor's. 
The man also knew how to wear the uniforms with the endless trap 
pings and decorations. For the use of the model horse I had to apply 
to the royal stables for permission. 

Those royal stables were in themselves a vast affair. They were 
L shaped, each side several hundred feet long. In one part was a 
long row of carriage horses, all black with the exception of the spans 
of bay horses, Hanoverians, with long, bushy tails; these were used 
only for notable state functions. Fine animals they were, of all 
sizes, from the giants of eighteen hands to a number of the " double 
ponies," used for riding and driving by the numerous princes. The 
royal stables were in the charge of Baron von Reischach, an officer 
of the Guards, and kept with meticulous care and military precision. 
The Kaiser himself used many horses of all builds and colors depend 
ing upon the occasion. For instance, when he wore the uniform of 
a Death's Head Hussar, he would ride a lighter horse, one with a 
long and bushy tail, in order to appear the more picturesque. When 
he was a cuirassier of the Guards a large animal was needed to give 
him that overawing dignity which he so craved. 


Because of his short left arm, which he could scarcely use, all the 
horses were especially trained to obey the slightest impulse from the 
rider's thigh. The moment a horse returned to the stables from a 
ride with the Kaiser, it was taken in hand by the head trainer and 
soothed back to its normal form after the uncertain treatment of its 
august master. 

Very often the training would be supplemented by such distrac 
tions as a concert in front of the horse. Musicians would appear 
and play trumpets, bugles and other wind instruments. At other 
times a crowd of stable boys would rush up and shout "hoch!" 
" hurrah !" or even discharge a gun in its proximity. All this would 
leave these animals unperturbed. They knew too well that their 
good behavior would be rewarded with sugar and other delicacies, 
which they must not risk by shying. It was one of these horses, a 
beautiful and gentle animal called Meteor, which the Kaiser rode 
most frequently, which was assigned to me as my model. 

One day as I was working on my statuette there was great com 
motion in the paddock behind the palace. My model and my work 
were hurriedly thrust aside. The Empress was coming to look on 
at the riding lesson of her two eldest boys. As she passed my corner 
she threw a glance at the strange group, and a few minutes later I 
was called and my statuette was brought before her. 

She was a woman of striking appearance, considerably taller than 
the Kaiser, and her customary smile was very becoming to her. She 
was an ideal wife and mother, devoted to her family and her children 
and so patriotic that she would order her clothes only of German 
dressmakers an example by no means followed by the German 
aristocracy. Upon this particular occasion she wore a rather tightly 
fitting tailor-made costume of beige-colored cloth which emphasized 
her tall slender figure and gave her a Junoesque appearance. 

Not being accustomed to royalty I felt a little embarrassed in her 
presence. She seemed not to notice it, asked me many questions 
about my work and myself and was very condescending. The 


Master of the Horse helped me in answering her questions. He ex 
plained to the Empress the purpose of the statuette, and told her that 
I was still a student at the Academy, Fortunately, she seemed to 
like the work, and especially the fact that I should have been able to 
get a likeness of the Kaiser without having seen him close by She 
was kind in her criticism. She thought, moreover, that I ought "to 
have better opportunities for studying my subject. She accordingly 
gave orders to have it arranged that I be allowed to see the Emperor 
mounting and dismounting from his horse. 

In the meantime the ponies were brought in and she kindly invited 
me to watch her boys at their riding lesson. The exercises through 
which they were put made me gasp. Again and again they were 
drilled in mounting and dismounting, in sudden wheeling, in jumping 
series of hurdles, and all this under commands from the riding master 
precisely like the sharp military orders of an officer to a private. 
Their ponies had no saddles and more than once the boys had falls 
while jumping over the hurdles. But all this they took in good part 
as a portion of their lesson. Another set of ponies would be brought 
out to replace the first and they would go through their discipline all 
over again. These were the exercises which made all the young 
German princes such experienced riders. 

The Crown Prince was the slenderer and more alert of the two. 
His brother, Eitel Frederick, was the handsomer and more sym 
pathetic. The horses they rode were full of vitality and spirit. I 
could not help comparing those splendid animals with the worn-out 
and decrepit hacks they gave us whenever we had to stage the 
pageants which the students of the Acaderriy arranged upon great 
occasions. I even had the temerity to mention this fact to the Em 
press. She smiled when I described the little tricks we resorted to 
in order to put life into our horses. When giving me leave to go 
she did a gracious thing. She had a message sent to the Court 
jewelers which was so effective that their order was followed up 
by several others and with an advance in price. 


Among the many visitors who came to see the royal stables and 
mews during the time I was working there, was a gentleman with his 
small son. He stopped before my model and seemed to take more 
than ordinary interest in the sculpture. Several days later, he looked 
me up at my studio and asked if I would undertake to do some work 
for him even though it was not of a nature as artistic as that which 
he had seen at the royal mews. I told him I should be glad of any 
opportunity, whereupon he invited me to his hotel. There he ex 
plained that his son, then a lad of about six, had some trouble with 
his foot for which he needed a cast. He did not wish to entrust the 
work to a moulder and he hoped that I would find it convenient to 
oblige him. When the cast was delivered he came to see me again, 
looked round my studio and chose the bust of a child in plaster. 
This he asked me to execute for him in marble. It was my first 
commission for a sculpture in stone. 

Later, when the papers announced that I had won the traveling 
scholarship to Rome, I received a letter embossed with a coat of 
arms, and in it a check for a thousand marks, accompanied by best 
wishes for my welfare in Italy. The writer was the father of the 
little boy for whom I made the cast in plaster, Count von Bentinck 
and Waldeck Limpurg. The little boy is the present Count who 
extended the Kaiser his hospitality in Holland for so many months 
after William's abdication. 

The racing trophy I had made at the Kaiser's stables was followed 
by a likeness of Prince Waldemar, the Kaiser's youngest brother, who 
had died as a boy. This bust was to be a gift from my patron, a 
loyal and admiring subject, to the Hohenzollern Museum at Berlin. 
In order to have all the material available I was permitted to work 
%t the palace of the Empress Frederick, Unter den Linden. 

Situated opposite the Royal Academy of Arts, it was since 
the death of the Emperor rarely inhabited. The Empress spent 
most of her time at the castle in Friedrichsruhe which she had built 
for herself as a retreat. The estrangement between her and her son, 


the Emperor, was another reason for her constant absence. The 
house showed all the desolation of inoccupancy. It was guarded 
only by an aged domo and the military sentinel. No carpets lay on 
the floors; all had been taken up and rolled in long cartridges. The 
curtains were down. The furnishings were a quaint mixture of the 
heavy gilt and carved " official" style with massive damasks and 
velvets, interspersed with some dainty pieces which the Empress had 
brought with her from her English home across the Channel. The 
pictures on the walls, some of them done by the hand of his Excel 
lency, Anton von Werner, were mostly glorifications of the old Em 
peror's deeds on the battlefield canvases of vast dimensions. 
Their banishment to that uninhabited house indicated plainly how 
the finer taste of the Empress had judged them. There were, too, 
innumerable models of memorials to the Emperor, to his father, 
to Moltke and Bismarck in bronze, marble and even in silver* The 
corridors and passageways were covered with numberless addresses, 
mostly illuminated by second-rate artists, commemorating endless 
official visits and occasions. To obtain permission to remove some 
of these photographs and pictures across the street to the Academy 
would have been such a complicated affair of red tape, that I chose 
the shorter and more expedient way and worked in the palace. 

As my two years' stay at the Academy in Berlin was drawing to 
a close, I looked back over my experiences and could not help feeling 
that I was progressing. Although art there doubtless moved in the 
good old channels which were emphasized by a Schaper and a von 
Werner, there was nevertheless a distinct current of fresh air and 
fresh ideas noticeable. It must be owned that to the more enlight 
ened the Academy appeared stuffy and they left it. Personally, I felt 
otherwise. I had never looked upon it as other than those crutches 
by the help of which I might learn to walk. The thoroughness of 
the teaching appealed to me. 

By way of illustration of the method one may cite the fact that 
no student was allowed to pass a certain class unless he could produce 


a certificate of a successful examination in anatomy and perspective. 
For anatomy the Academy had a lecture room adjoining the medical 
school. Professor Virchow, the son of the famous scientist, was 
assigned as lecturer to the art students. A part of his duties was to 
visit the studios whenever there was the need, to examine the work 
and the models of the artists, and to point out their errors in drawing 
first upon the living model and then to demonstrate in the dissecting 
room. In no other art school have I ever known of such thorough 
training. When I sent in my exhibits on the occasion of the scholar 
ship competition, that training in anatomy stood me in good stead. 
It gave me what I needed. Now, looking back to those distant stu 
dent days, I am heartily grateful to that institution which equipped 
its students with so solid a foundation. 

The time was now at hand when I must make ready to leave for 

This was in 1890. My friend Doctor Steinbach had just been 
made a member of the Austrian cabinet. One day I received a 
letter from him suggesting that I arrange my itinerary in such a 
manner that I might pass through Vienna. 

When I came to see him at the Treasury, there was still all the 
elaborate pomp and circumstance which the tradition of pre-war 
days required. The great rooms were in a style of rich baroque, 
highly over-decorated. All the servants were in brilliant uniforms. 
Busy counselors kept running back and forth with an expression of 
' importance which increased with the descending scale of their rank. 
The Minister's anteroom was full. Finally my turn came. I was 
ushered in. 

The man himself, seated in the midst of this pomp, was unchanged. 
He was the same as before, the same kind friend, simple, cordial and 
glad of my progress. He bade me sit down near him and tell him 
all about myself. Time and again he grasped both my hands and 
said, "Splendid! Splendid!" And he did make me feel so happy! 


I could not tell him enough about myself and my training. At last, 
when one of the officials timidly opened the door, it dawned upon us 
both how fast the time had flown. But there was so much more to 
be told. He asked me to dine with him that night. "But," he 
added, "no ceremony, just like in the olden days." 

At first I did not quite understand what he meant. But as he 
explained, I learned that he was not occupying the official residence 
which was his perquisite. He still continued to live in his three 
rooms in the little house in the suburbs. The same little house, the 
same crotchety housekeeper, the same atmosphere. The only 
difference I could detect was an increase in the multitude of books 
surrounding him there. When the time came for me to take my 
departure, he bade me Godspeed with all the old cordiality and gave 
me this parting advice: 

" Fortune rolls a ball once to everybody during Ms lifetime. 
Hold fast to yours/' 

When Doctor Steinbach had finished revising the currency sys 
tem of Austria, he again received an autograph letter from the 
Emperor which read: 


You have completed to my entire satisfaction the task upon which you 
set out. I consider your services so valuable that I should like to ensure 
their permanency. I appoint you therefore First Lord of the Court of 

This was an appointment for life. Steinbach, who was first of all 
a lawyer, greatly preferred his new position, and filled it with entire 
success for many years. 


"Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, 
Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, 
Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, 
And the guoves are of laurel and myrtle and rose? " 

(Goethe Browning.) 

CONTINUED my journey from Vienna and my first 
stop was Venice Venice, the city of " sweet fancies 
let loose." 

All my dreams of this magical sanctum, however, 
were soon shattered. After a week's sojourn there, 
where I experienced nothing but cold, rain, mist and all the incon 
veniences of a chilly boarding house, I felt unhappy and disappointed. 
At the Pension, I always found myself at the wrong end of the table, 
where the dishes reached me almost empty. Nor was I as yet ac 
customed to the little Italian charcoal fires, or scaldini, which people, 
held under their hands, as if they expected the heat to radiate all 
over their bodies. I was miserable and I moved on. 

I have since often returned to the abode of my dreams and have 
enjoyed the poetry which envelops this city of enchantment the 
majestic Lido, the Canale Grande, with its countless gondolas 
gliding silently over the waters which reflect the moon a thousand 
times in their mirrorlike waves. 

My next stop was at Pisa. I wished to see Carrara. I was eager 
to visit the marble quarries there, those famed quarries which supply 
the sculptor with the snow-white stone, ready to accept the most 
subtle of emotions. But Carrara is a misnomer for the marble. The 



mountain which Pope Julius the Second gave to Michael Angelo for 
use as a quarry for the papal works was situated at Seravezza. 
For almost two hundred years the position of that quarry was 
lost, until a Frenchman by the name of Henreaux rediscovered it 
by the aid of certain documents which he had unearthed. Once 
the exact location was established, the fortunate Frenchman was 
able to buy the ground for a moderate sum. To-day the family of 
Henreaux still possesses the virtually exclusive monopoly in that rare 
marble which artists universally prefer to all others. 

At Pisa I lingered only long enough to get a glimpse of the famous 
leaning tower, the Baptistery and the others of that group of cele 
brated ivory colored buildings and to get the train for Carrara. 
Without further delay I continued my way to the Eternal City. 

The government studios to which my scholarship bound me were 
located upon one of the seven hills, the Monte Parioli. There was 
nothing in these of the grandeur of the Villa Medici, which Napoleon 
created the permanent home of the French artist pensioners in 
tribute to Art. Nor did they even approach the splendor of the 
Spanish Academy. Those two were communities by themselves. 
Their students, well aware of their own importance, held much aloof 
and would not mix with the youth of the other nations. Their 
scholarships are baown as the Grand Prix de Rome, and the deport 
ment of their students kept pace with its dignity and pride. 

Looking back after these many years I must conclude that old 
Anton von Werner had judged the situation correctly. Most of 
those who went across the Alps with glowing expectations and hearts 
filled with hope, ordinarily came back after a few years with little 
more than memories of happy hours spent in Italy, 

The few German studios which the government rented were 
beautifully situated upon the hill in the midst of a pine and cypress 
grove. There were no formal gardens as at the Villa Medici, nor 
any sumptuous receptions for Roman society with choice music 
provided by the musical students. Our own humble receptions were 


twice daily at the little wine shop, the Trattoria in Vicolo delle 
Colonette. There we had our own table at which some old artist 
or another, settled in Rome for thirty years or more, presided over 
us youngsters. These old stagers talked to us, gave us advice and 
helped us with much kindness in every way they could. 

For many years I had been fondly harboring a theme which one 
day I hoped to put into form. This idea, as it f rained itself in my 
mind, I called " Mother-Love/' My conception represented a young 
woman bound to a pillory, faint, exhausted almost to the point of 
death. But still she presses her infant to her breast in an effort to 
nurse it. The child, unconcerned at its mother's suffering, is intent 
only upon its nourishment its self-preservation. That composi 
tion I meant to be a monument to the love and unflinching suffering 
of motherhood. It was to consist of the main group and of a series 
of four bas-reliefs to be inserted in the pedestal. The front relief 
was to be an idyllic scene in which a boy and a girl were to form the 
center. The second was to be an idealistic presentation of a mother 
defending herself before an unsympathetic tribunal. The third was 
a procession scene in which the crowd escorts her to the pillory, 
carrying the child before her. The last was to be an apotheosis. 

Now that I was in Rome with my wants provided for I saw a 
chance of carrying out this idea that had so long dwelt in my mind 
untroubled, undisturbed, Soon, therefore, I began to absent myself 
from the table of convivial companions at the Trattoria and drew 
away into the solitude of my studio. I encountered no difficulties 
in finding a model in sympathy with my idea, and one who did not 
object to the inconveniences of an uncomfortable pose. I embarked 
upon my work and presently I found time slipping away much faster 
than my work progressed. The first year had vanished and still I 
was no farther on than my model in clay. 

It was a condition of my scholarship that every three months I 
was obliged to present myself at the German Embassy to report upon 


my progress in Rome. A certain Count Solm, then German Am 
bassador, was an old friend of Bismarck and stood high in the diplo 
matic corps. By virtue of the large task I had begun, I soon became 
known to the Embassy staff, and through these I had opportunity of 
meeting others of the diplomatic service in Rome. Being an Aus 
trian, I also had a desire to meet the representatives of my own 

Like most nations, Austria-Hungary had two ambassadors. 
Count Revertera represented the Emperor Francis Joseph at the 
Vatican, while Baron Bruck was the head of the embassy to the 
Quirinal. Count Revertera was indifferent to art. The social life 
of the eternal city and entertaining on a vast scale in the famous 
Palazzo Venezia was all that interested him. His staff however were 
ardent collectors of antiquities and art objects. 

But if to Count Revertera art meant little, it was not so with his 
colleague at the Quirinal. Baron Bruck was one of the gentlest and 
kindest souls I met in Rome. Almost every day he would stop at 
my studio and watch the progress of my ambitious group. It seemed 
to appeal to him with peculiar force and he watched it with a haunting 
attention. He often gave put as his motto, "Stay where you're 
happy." And as I was happy in Rome, 1 could not but follow his 

When the time of my scholarship had lapsed, and still I was 
working on my large group, I left the government studio, rented one 
of my own nearby and began to execute my work in marble and 
bronze. The number of my visitors began to increase rapidly* 
There was, for instance, that very handsome and sympathetic young 
count, Charles Paar, son of the chief equerry to the old Emperor 
Francis Joseph. His blood was so blue and his family tree so old 
that he was an accepted member of the Ancient Order of the Knights 
of Malta. The members of this order were not permitted to many. 
But when they appeared at official or social functions in their black 
robes with the large white maltese cross upon their breasts, they 


looked so striking and picturesque that many tender hearts went 

It was so with Count Paar. Much interested in modern art, he 
often came to my studio and usually brought some of his numerous 
friends, always endeavoring to persuade them to order something. 
He himself could do very little. In an unlucky moment of his life 
he had played for very high stakes and lost everything he possessed. 
Nothing remained to him but his salary and an income from his 
Order, All this, together with his celibacy, spread about him an 
atmosphere of romance. A love affair with a beautiful lady of the 
Italian aristocracy, whom his vows made it impossible to marry, 
added to the condition of his pathos. It was touching to see this 
princess disregarding all the laws of convention and spending her 
days with him when he was stricken with his fatal disease; but 
neither her devotion nor her indefatigable care were able to arrest 
the slow but certain decline which his many sorrows brought on. 
He died in Rome with the princess at his bedside a figure as roman 
tic as one in an ancient legend. 

Baron Bruck also brought daily some of his friends. Upon one 
occasion, he even brought the Turkish Ambassador, Mahmud Neh- 
dim Bey. That poor man, who had been for many months awaiting 
the salary which his government was tardy in remitting, was sports 
man enough nevertheless to order from the young artist a drawing 
of himself and a bronze of his beautiful great Dane, Achmet who 
posed much more satisfactorily than his master. Bruck also brought 
the famous Marchesa Di Lavaggi, who was then the talk of the 
town, a celebrity in Rome, because she had imported her bathroom 
complete from England then considered the height of bizarre extrav 

Prince Doria Pamphily r ~was another of my visitors and ordered 
a marble of his little boy who had recently died. And this order led 
to a friendship which lasted for many years, until the Prince's death. 

In the excitement of my studies and the work upon my group, 


it never occurred to me to figure out the expenses. I was absorbed 
in it and in my environment. Here I was with my life before me in 
a wonderful land surrounded by the best that has been done in. art, 
free to work according to my inclinations. Modern teaching in art 
is greatly at a disadvantage compared to the times of the Renaissance, 
when the eminent masters flourished. I saw my opportunity, and 
decided that I would not limit myself to one branch alone. I resolved 
to follow sculpture, indeed, but also to keep my hand in strict training 
for drawing, the foundation of all the graphic arts. 

It was this variety of training in many fields of art which mas 
ters gave their pupils that brought about the Italian Renaissance. 
Students were obliged to grind colors, to enlarge small sketches to 
the size of the cartoons, to prepare the clay, to build the full size 
figure from the small model, to learn the intricate art of making the 
skeleton, and to prepare it so carefully that the master would not 
find the work collapsed upon the floor just when the finishing touches 
were about to be given. And they had to familiarize themselves 
with the difficult process of bronze-casting, an art in itself. 

At the time of Benvenuto Cellini the art of the "lost-wax" 
(tire-perdue) process was generally in use. It was most ingenious, 
Prom the model in plaster a form was made composed of many sec 
tions which could be easily taken apart and put together. Into this 
mould was poured a very thin layer of pure beeswax mixed with a 
vegetable color to render it opaque. After the wax cooled and stiff 
ened the shell was removed, section by section. This wax had to be 
worked over by the artist almost as carefully as the statue itself. 
First, the seams had to be flattened, and then were added the finish 
ing touches to which the comparatively pliable and elastic wax lent 
itself better than the hard plaster. After this a liquid generally 
composed of brick dust and plaster, to resist fire, was poured around 
the model. When dry and hard the whole was put into an oven 
and lightly heated for forty-eight hours so that the wax could melt 
out without leaving any residue. The model was cooled again and 


Bas Reliefs on Base of Group "Mother-Low" 


the bronze, composed of nine parts of copper and one part of tin, 
was infused, in liquid form. This was the process full of intri 
cate detail, so difficult that since the time of its earliest use it has 
been twice lost and recovered. 

In Italy the student has a chance to familiarize himself with all 
of this technique. And this, in the midst of other preoccupations, I 
endeavored to do the while I was there. Though it is doubtless true 
that in such matters as sport or industry specialization is most to be 
desired, I firmly believe that in art the broadest and the most compre 
hensive foundation is necessary. Later in life I often had occasion 
for being grateful that I had early learned the elaborate technique 
of toy craft. I studied the technique, and yet persisted at my big 
group. This was to be the crowning achievement of my Italian 

The more, however, it advanced, the more I realized what a 
foolhardy enterprise I had undertaken. Had I made portrait draw 
ings of the entire Roman aristocracy I could never have earned 
enough with which to finish it, counting at the rate of one hundred 
francs a drawing which I was then receiving. What made the situ 
ation more serious was a change in the Austrian cabinet. Count 
Kalnocky, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, had resigned and the 
days of my kindly patron, Baron Bruck, the Dean of the diplomatic 
corps, were numbered. It was one of those unforeseen and unfor 
tunate circumstances that react into a variety of channels. When 
I discovered that Bruck's successor was Baron Pasetti, little inter 
ested in art, it became apparent that disaster was staring me in the 

In my desperation I took a train and rushed to Vienna to con 
sult again my never-failing guide, philosopher and friend, Doctor 
Emil Steinbach. With his everlasting patience and interest he would 
look at my photographs; he would delve into the whole history of 
my sojourn in Rome; every detail of my life, my aims, my dreams, 
found a sympathetic echo in the soul of this great man. The near- 


ness of his presence alone removed those mountains which had 
seemed to pile upon my troubled mind and when, after a short stay, I 
again boarded the train which took me back to Rome, I carried in a 
full and grateful heart the assurance that my group would be fin 
ished. In 1903 I received in London an invitation from the Vienna 
Art Association to give a special exhibition of my work; I then again 
saw my good friend, and rejoiced in his jesting admission that he no 
longer regretted having assisted in passing me through college un 
qualified and unmerited. Soon after my return to London I sorrow 
fully learned of his death " Friend more divine than all Divinities/' 

After working for the best part of five years, my group was at 
last finished. I was obliged to do most of my own carving. This, 
however, in later life I did not regret. Just before the completion 
of the work I received an invitation from the Art Association of 
Munich to exhibit it at their Spring Exhibition. They offered to 
pay the expense of taking the piece to Munich from Rome and 
thence to the next exhibition. I accepted and was awarded a gold 

Mother-Love is a group in the round; the four bronzes in the 
base are reliefs the two side panels in high relief and those adorn 
ing the front and rear somewhat flatter. There is also a form of riliew 
so low that it might almost be termed a painting in stone* This 
is the most difficult. To distinguish the modeling at all, it has to 
be illuminated by sharp light which will throw deep shadows* Its 
application is particularly well suited for medals and was practiced by 
Roty, Dupr6 and Bott6e to best advantage. 

A Saint Cecilia of my own conception offered me the opportunity 
to express in marble all the delicate nuances the subject demanded, 
This I cut at the same time while I was working on my group; it 
was my rest and recreation. 

When I left Rome the work was not entirely finished but after 
settling in London, its completion gave me many happy hours which 
were at the same time instructive. 


My Roman studio consisted of the wing of a building close to 
the Government studios, A ground floor room contained my work in 
marble. From that room a staircase wound into an upper apart 
ment where I was making drawings and models. The south wall 
of that upper chamber contained a huge window consisting of one 
plate of glass, overlooking the city of Rome, its innumerable towers 
and spires and the Alban hills in the distance. At any hour of 
the day the effect was startling. But it was at sunrise and sunset 
that the new and indescribable pictures were constantly being 
revealed through my window. 

Queen Margherita, mother of the present King, Victor Emmanuel, 
and widow of King Humbert, was a noted lover of art and music. 
From some of my diplomatic friends she had learned of my group 
and expressed the desire to see it before it left the city. 

Were that happening to-day I should know better what to do 
when so honored by such a visitor. But being then inexperienced 
I thought it best to invite also the Embassy upon the occasion of 
her visit. The new ambassador found the big group too sad for him. 
Again and again he asked me why I wasted my time upon gloomy 
subjects when I might do gay and cheerful little bronzes which 
people would readily buy. Queen Margherita, however, was warmly 
interested and expressed the desire to see everything. She was full 
of kindly and eager questions; I could hardly answer them for their 
rapidity. When she mounted the stairs and found herself at my 
great upper window just as the sun was setting, she exclaimed, 

"What a beautiful and novel view of Rome you have here!" 

She recognized a portrait bust I had made of Gustav Freytag, 
the poet, and began to discuss his works, most of which she knew 
in German, She was graciously delightful, and I soon realized that 
the presence of the diplomats was an unnecessary luxury. I was 
pleasantly surprised when she turned to the ambassador and asked 
him if he did not think the group a fine piece of sculpture, I do not 
remember his answer. I doubt whether he made one when he bowed, 


but when she was about to leave, she turned once again to the group 
and said, 

"I appreciate the way in which you talk with your marble, when 
I see the answers you elicit/' 

The Queen's visit was a definite landmark in my life. For, what 
with its attendant publicity, it brought many visitors to my studio, 
both Roman and foreign. One of these, Miss Alexandra Ellis, daugh 
ter of Arthur Ellis, Equerry to the Prince of Wales, desired me to 
make a drawing of herself as a gift for her father. 

Mrs. Carl Meyer, wife of the manager for the Rothschilds, 
who kept open house in London and had a keen regard for art, 
commissioned me to model a bust of herself, which she wished me 
to start then and, as she had not time enough to stay in Rome 
until it was completed, she invited me to finish the marble in Eng 
land the following summer. Indebted as I was to Mrs, Meyer for 
her tangible interest in my work, I was even more grateful to her for 
a far greater thing which she did for me at this time. 

Sargent was in Rome on a visit and one day Mrs. Meyer brought 
him to my studio to see the bust for which she was sitting. This 
meeting I consider one of the epochal moments of my life, Sargent's 
fame was then beginning to spread over the civilized world. Not 
since the days of Franz Hals has such directness in conception 
and rendering, such dazzling, brilliant technique as Sargent's been 
seen. He had just finished the large canvas of Mrs. Meyer with 
her two children, the picture of that year at the London Royal 
Academy. The expectation of meeting him had keyed me up to 
a high pitch of excitement. From Mrs. Meyer's description of him, 
I had formed an image already. When he entered my studio, a man 
well over six feet in height, I would have taken him for almost any 
thing but an artist. In the Latin countries, especially in France 
and Italy, we are so accustomed to recognize artists by their ec 
centricities in manner and dress, that we end by believing these to 
be a manifestation of talent. Were this true, Sargent could not 

O/^ Italian Peasant Woman 
From an Etching 

Arabella di Saracinesco 
A Charcoal Study 


conceivably qualify as an artist. There is nothing of the eccentric 
about him. But once he begins to talk he reveals the man he is. 

I still remember the flattering words he uttered as he looked at 
my bust of Mrs. Meyer, and also his generous comment upon the 
group. A few of my pencil drawings hung upon the wall, and when 
for these, too, he had a kind word, I could not help pointing out to 
him that they were lacking in that freedom for which I was striving 
so hard and which was his gift in abundance. Reluctantly he then 
admitted I was right. This I subsequently found to be part of the 
highmindedness of his magnanimous soul. Always he looked first 
for the best in everything. In the many years that I knew him 
afterwards I never heard him criticize adversely, except perhaps once 
Burne- Jones, whose art is so diametrically opposed in freshness and 
directness, that it could hardly have been otherwise. But this does 
not mean that he was intolerant of the whole Pre-Raphaelite school. 
On the contrary, he had nothing but sincere admiration for Rossetti. 
Even his averseness for Burne- Jones he expressed in a gesture rather 
than in words. 

When he came again shortly before he left Rome, he generously 
offered me the use of one of his own studios when I should come to 
London to finish Mrs. Meyer's bust. 

I began to make my preparations to leave for London, not know 
ing at that time that it was to be my future home. During my 
Roman years I had lost touch to a great extent with both Austria and 
Germany. Italy is a place for study and deliberation rather than a 
permanent abode for a young artist. What my next step was to be 
I did not know. Chance had brought me the commission for Mrs. 
Meyer's bust and chance seemed to point toward England. 

One episode, even though irrelevant, I cannot help recording 
here. Just before I left Rome Paderewski arrived to give a series of 
concerts at the Sancta Cecilia Hall. The first was to be in the after 
noon at four o'clock and Queen Margherita was expected. The 
house was crowded to the roof. When the royal family arrived and 



the master, amid profound silence, was about to begin his con 
cert, a ray of sunlight, shining through a yellow stained glass window, 
crowned his head with a glow of gold so radiant that it gave the 
striking appearance of an aureole. The audience burst into thunder 
ous applause which lasted many minutes. I have wondered if even 
today Paderewski knows the real cause of that spontaneous out 


" The man must fight 

Mid struggles and strife, 
The battle of life; 
Must plant and create, 
Watch, snare and debate, 
Must venture and stake 
His fortune to make. " 


[ ARLY in the summer of 1897 I arrived in London with 
my marble bust of Mrs. Carl Meyer. 

It was the year of Queen Victoria's Diamond 
Jubilee the sixtieth anniversary of her reign. Num 
bers of foreign visitors, royal and otherwise, filled the 
town. My prospects suddenly appeared none too bright. First of 
all, the picture of the rejoicing city was perhaps too dazzling for one 
emerging from years of retirement in a Roman studio. I was alone, 
and at a loss to find my bearings. 

It became clear to me, too, that it would be long before Mrs. Carl 
Meyer would resume her sittings. The round of festivities, all 
crowded into the small space of three months, when all London 
is in a continuous revel of dinners, dances, concerts, opera and 
theaters, was enough to tax the endurance of any one. One day 
Mrs. Meyer came to the studio and she had not been there many 
minutes before she fell asleep in her chair. I was not surprised. 

But here again Sargent was the first in that great tuimoil to re 
member the stranger to whom in Rome he had offered his hospitality. 
He repeated his invitation to work in his studio. I declined as it 



would have taken a long time to finish the bust and I understood also 
the inconvenience which my work in marble would be likely to cause 
him. The noise from hammering and scraping is disturbing to any 
one except the sculptor. The marble dust which flies about in clouds 
covers everything with a coating of white. It would do the utmost 
harm to a wet painting. 

When I knew that my stay in London was to be prolonged, I 
rented a small studio in Kensington, some distance out of town, but 
this did not prevent him from calling on me. Busy as he was, he 
invited me to his atelier, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to have a 
little music in the evening or for a quiet chat. Here is one of his notes, 
which are among my cherished possessions: 


Cher Monsieur Fuchs, Je serai hetireux de vous voir ainsi que Mr, 
Hughes, demain a I heure, disons I heure 10, pour que men module ait le 
temps de disparaltre, 

Bien a vous, 



Dear Mr. Fuchs, I shall be glad if you and Mr, Hughes will come to 
morrow at i o'clock; let's say 10 minutes past I, so that my sitter has the 
time to leave. 

Yours sincerely, 


Through the kindness of my neighbor, a portrait painter, Miss E chel 
Matthews, I met at her studio Colonel Griffith, who was the inspector 
of prisons. His regiment, it appeared, was planning to present Lord 
Wolseley, then Commander-in-Chief of the British army, with a por 
trait statuette in silver. A gentle conspiracy was at once entered into 
by my new acquaintances. After Lord Wolseley's consent to sit had 
been obtained, I was commissioned to do the work. 

Lord and Lady Wolseley were living at Grosvenor Gardens near 
Hyde Park where he could take his early morning rides before break- 

The late Lord Wolseky 

Commander in Chief of the British Army 

A Statuette in Silver 

La Pensierosa 

In the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York 


fast. The days when he posed, he was obliged to forego his rides. 
Nevertheless, he bore the new yoke bravely, and later when the wax 
model of his statuette was completed, I took it back to Rome where I 
had it cast in silver. The following year it was exhibited at the 
Royal Academy. 

Meanwhile, however, Miss Ellis, whose portrait I had done in 
Rome, brought one day her father, General Arthur Ellis, to my studio. 
As I have said, he was one of the equerries to the Prince of Wales. The 
other three were Sir Stanley Clarke, Seymour Fortescue and Captain 
Holf ord. General Ellis was not only a collector and a connoisseur in 
art but also the Prince's lifelong friend. He accompanied the Prince 
upon his long journeys and because of his taste in art matters the 
Prince consulted him frequently. The Ellis house at 29 Portland 
Place was like a museum filled with many pictures, bronzes, ivories, 
shooting trophies, collected from all over the world an amazing as 
semblage of gifts from royalty accumulated during forty years of as 
sociation with the most exalted in all lands. He looked me up at my 
out-of-the-way studio, invited me to his house, and there I met his 
youngest daughter, a handsome girl of whom he wished to have me 
make a bust in marble. 

Upon his many visits to the studio he would bring friends, in his 
desire to help the young artist. Whenever I heard the hoofbeats of 
horses and looked out of my window I would generally discover the 
scarlet liveries of the royal carriage and Arthur Ellis descending. It 
was his interest in my work and in me that subsequently drew the at 
tention of the Prince of Wales in nay direction. And that opened a 
new life for me. Now, when the entire episode is crystallized in my 
memory, I cannot but look back with heartfelt gratitude at the 
chance that sent that young girl, Miss Ellis, when I was still a strug 
gling student in Rome. 

The summer had worn well away before Mrs. Meyer was able to 
give me the final sittings for her marble. The country home of the 


Meyers in Surrey was a beautiful place called Balcombe. There was 
an excellent chef and a cellar with brands and vintages which spoke 
volumes to the connoisseur. Their home was exceedingly popular, 
and it was there that she gave me her sittings. 

I still remember what an agreeable voice she had and how ready 
she was to oblige her guests with her art. She was always taking 
singing lessons from whatever teacher was most sought after. Rinaldo 
Hahn, a second edition of Tosti, was a relative of hers, and often came 
over from Paris. After a splendid meal, Hahn would sit down at the 
piano surrounded by picturesquely grouped "souls" and, with the 
room dimmed to the shade of romance, he would bring forth in a whis 
pering voice those saccharine tunes which caused his audiences to 
sigh and buy his songs. 

This kind of life in an English country house was new to me. To 
awake in the morning without having a thought or a worry for the 
necessities of life was so novel and comforting that I kept on finding 
imperfections in the bust. But I had to finish my work and at last 
I returned to London. 

The three months which I originally planned to stay in London 
slipped away rapidly enough. I had accumulated commissions for a 
considerable variety of work, and to finish them 1 was obliged to 
await the return of people to town from their holidays. I began to 
look about for another studio, and soon discovered a charming place 
in the heart of the West End near Portland Place, where my friend, 
Arthur Ellis, lived. 

It was becoming more and more clear to me that destiny was 
minded to fix London as my future home and I signed a lease for a 
couple of years. 

Among the many friends of his whom Sir Arthur (he had just been 
knighted) in his warm kindliness was always bringing to my studio, 
was Consuelo, Duchess of Manchester. She was a dashing lady in 
those days, very ambitious and much in the fashionable life of Lon 
don. By birth a Miss Ysnaga of Cuban-American origin, she to- 


gether with her two sisters, Lady Lister Kay and one maiden sister, 
had early settled in England. Having married the then Duke of 
Manchester, she had three children, a boy and twin girls, both famous 
for their beauty. She was popular, amusing, knew how to tell a good 
story and the Prince of Wales was often a guest at her house in Port- 
man Square. 

It was her surviving daughter, however, who attracted me. 
From the moment I saw the girl, Lady Alice Montagu, I felt an irre 
sistible desire to fix her delicate features in marble. That was no 
easy wish to gratify. Art was not one of the things that concerned 
the Duchess. It took the combined efforts of Sir Arthur Ellis and of 
the Austrian Embassy, all of whose members were her intimate 
friends, to obtain her consent for the sittings. Even so she changed 
her mind half a dozen times before the final decision. 

The sittings were not to begin until the London season was over, 
that is, after the Cowes regatta, which takes place at the beginning of 
August. She also stipulated that the bust in marble was to be ex 
hibited at the Royal Academy the following season, and that after 
the exhibition it was to be presented to her. To all these conditions I 
consented readily. 

The girl was so beautiful, so delicate, frail and sympathetic, that I 
was willing to agree to any conditions at all. After my first few 
months in that modern Babylon, with all the clang and commotion 
of the Jubilee festivities, I, a stranger in a strange land, found in 
Lady Alice a kind soul that responded to my humors and had so subtly 
the gift of understanding. Art was her one passion. Every free mo 
ment she would be drawing or sketching. Again and again she ex 
pressed the wish that her vain and ambitious mother would allow 
her to stay quietly at home and read, sketch or play. But any such 
hints fell upon deaf ears. The poor girl had to be shown off and 
dragged about into society. Repeatedly the mother was warned that 
Lady Alice's health would not stand the strain. Only a few months 
before her twin sister, Lady Mary, had died in Rome of consump- 


tion. The physician who had attended her cautioned the Duchess that 
if she did not treat her remaining daughter with the utmost care, the 
chances were that she would meet a similar fate. The mother, how 
ever, very proud of her daughter, would listen to no warnings. As 
the girl had red cheeks, the Duchess took this as a sign of perfect 
health. Her abstention from eating appeared as a pardonable de 
sire to keep a slender figure. 

In any case, word finally came that I was expected at Kimbolton, 
the seat of the Manchesters, where the sittings were to take place. 
Now, to make a bust is a vastly different matter from painting a por 
trait. To paint a portrait all one needs is a canvas, a paintbox and an 
easel,* and one is ready to work. For a bust, on the other hand, one 
has first of all to carry the clay, and clay is pretty heavy. In order 
to support the modeling clay against sagging, one is obliged to make 
,an armature or framework of lead pipes, which also are not without 
weight and substance. In addition I was also obliged to bring a 
turning-table, part of the studio equipment, which is hardly found 
in a private house. When I arrived with all these properties, and 
even succeeded in persuading a van man in the village to haul me to 
gether with my equipment to the castle (it had evidently never oc 
curred to the Duchess that I might find any difficulty in reaching my 
destination), the Duchess greeted me with the announcement that 
she had accepted an invitation for her daughter to spend the week 
end somewhere else. 

My shock of keenest disappointment obviously meant nothing to 
her. The daughter, however, with her usual understanding, came 
to me and endeavored to relieve my dejection. So charming was she, 
so sympathetic and so anxious to see how a bust is done, so desirous 
of helping me in my predicament, that I very soon forgot all about 
the Duchess. I brought forth the clay and all the necessary 
implements and, despite the fact that in three days I would have to 
pack it all up again, I began my work. 

Kimbolton, in Huntingdonshire, was a somewhat somber house 

Lady Alice Montagu 
The Sister of the Duke of Manchester, Executed in Marble for the Late Queen Victoria 





and in a desolate condition. Though the title of the Dukes of Man 
chester went back to the days of King James I, when Henry Mon 
tagu, then Lord High Treasurer, was elevated to a baronetcy, 
Kimbolton was lacking in any collections or art treasures of what 
ever sort. The very shelves in the library yawned gloomily empty. 
The house had been denuded, principally, I imagine, by the late Duke, 
who cared nothing for such possessions. And for the matter of that, 
neither did I at that particular time. I was making frantic haste to 
do the most with my bust in the three days allotted me before Lady 
Alice departed for her week-end visit and I, with my complicated 
impedimenta, to London. 

In the fall of that year, however, when the family returned to 
town, my fair sitter saw to it that my tinie and efforts should not have 
been spent in vain. Whenever she could manage, she wrote a little 
note asking me to come up to the schoolroom of their house in Port- 
man Square, where she could pose for an hour now and then. Often 
she would, upon those occasions, complain of having to go out to a 
dinner, a ball, or a theater party, when she would have been so much 
happier messing about with clay and moulding little figures, precisely 
like a child. 

The vanity of a proud mother, however, could not resist the temp 
tation to show her daughter off. One night at a ball in Holland 
House, after numerous dances, Lady Alice went out into the grounds 
to cool off and caught a chill. She began to ail from that time for 
ward, and she had to spend the winters at St. Moritz and the springs 
and autumns in southern climates. After a long illness and not 
withstanding all possible care, she died in ineffable suffering, which 
she bore with that same smile which had been one of her chief charms 
all her young life. 

To show the attachment which that girl was capable of inspiring 
in those close to her, I may mention that her governess and constant 
companion from childhood grieved so deeply over her loss that she 
went insane. 


For some time the Duchess herself seemed inconsolable. Carried 
away by irremediable loss, she desired to perpetuate the memory of 
her daughter in some artistic form. She asked me to make some 
sketches for a suitable memorial to be placed in the church at Kimbol- 
ton. I designed what I thought to be an appropriate monument 
representing the twin sisters slumbering arm in arm upon a sarcopha 
gus. By the time the sketch was finished, the Duchess had changed 
her mind. She was always changing her mind. She preferred to 
sink her grief in the whirl of social life. Two years later her brother, 
Ysnaga, died and left her his fortune, which again brought her large 
social possibilities. But I have not heard that any memorial was ever 
put up to commemorate her daughter. My own neglected design I 
sent to the Royal Academy, after having had it cut, in small size, in 
marble. I am glad to reflect that now it is in the Walker Art Gallery 
in Liverpool, where it has found a permanent home. 

During these same early months in London I also came to know 
Forbes Robertson Sir Johnston, as he is now. He was then just 
coming into his own upon the stage. First, as is well known, he had 
begun, as a painter, with some success as a pupil at the Royal Acad 
emy as well as an exhibitor. Presently, however, he discovered 
that his histrionic talent was greater than his talent for painting. He 
was making a great success in Hamlet and was considered a worthy 
successor to Sir Henry Irving. His fine and exquisitely cut features, 
with the square broad forehead crowned by curly hair, like those 
of some splendid Roman from classical times, were a great lure to 
artists. They were eager to have him sit for them, and I was no ex 
ception. I was so fortunate as to gain his consent, and before my 
departure from London I had just time enough to finish the model 
in clay so that I could take it with me to Rome and cast it in bronze. 

By now I had accumulated a considerable number of models 
which were to be finished variously in marble, bronze and silver. I 
left London for Rome in the late autumn and there remained three 
or four months, just long enough to finish the different pieces. Know- 



ing definitely now that London was to be my future home I packed 
up these as well as my other belongings or, to be precise, half of 
them. During my absence in London thieves, tempted doubtless by 
the lonely situation of my Roman studio, had obligingly removed the 
other half. But it is certain these were burglars and not art col 


"Life . . . like a dome of many coloured glass . . . " (Tennyson.) 

|[HE beginning of 1898 found me once again in London, 
this time clearly a resident. 

My new workshop, although only the upper story 
of a stable, had its entrance upon the street through 
the house and distinctly resembled a studio. I 
moved over, installed myself as comfortably as I was able, disposed 
my things about and rejoiced in the feeling that I had again a per 
manent home. 

The London of that period, the post- Jubilee London, was at a 
most interesting phase in its history. It was at the height of pros 
perity with all the advantages and disadvantages of such a condition. 
The discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa had brought 
enormous wealth to the city, in addition to the riches already there. 
People, I have found, like individuals are often adversely af 
fected by too much wealth. England was no exception. It began 
to show the detrimental influence. Luxuries assumed proportions 
theretofore unknown. Hotels after the American fashion, such as 
the Savoy and the Carlton, began to spring up rapidly. Easy-going 
living was spreading like a rank growth. Business tended to become 
generally lax for want of incentive. Young men, the sons of affluent 
fathers, were making it a habit to begin their week-ends on Thurs 
days and to end them on the following Tuesday. 

In the field of art Pre-Raphaelitism was dying out. Rossetti 
was dead and the influence of Burne- Jones was waning. People 


San eta Cecilia 
In the Collection of Edward D. Adams, Esq. 

Mother and Child 


were losing interest in all the exponents of Pre-Raphaelitism. The 
era of Sargent was beginning. His art and the art for which the new 
groups and associations stood, their bold and direct manner, had an 
effect like the invigorating air on a mountain-top. 

My new studio was quite near Pagani's, the famous Italian restau 
rant in Great Portland Road, just behind Queen's Hall. As all 
the important concerts took place in Queen's Hall, a table was 
reserved for the artists who wished to meet there. Here it 
was that I first met Tosti, the famous song writer then in his 
glory. Small and dapper, with his snow-white hair and beard, he 
achieved fame because Queen Victoria, who was fond of his songs, 

V*.*: . T 
*& 3JU-U. 

often invited him to sing before her and a small circle of her friends. 
His popularity in England was enormous and he was said to receive 
extravagant sums for his tunes as well as for the lessons he gave. 
Some of the members of the Royal Family were among his pupils. 
Consequently he was greatly sought after. To take lessons from 
Tosti, it used to be said, one had simply to hand over one's bank-book, 
and let him help himself. His dress, always in the height of fashion, 
as well as his manner, certainly gave the impression that he helped 
himself generously. His self-assurance came at times to border on 
rudeness, as often in life when we receive more than we are entitled 

And so it was with Tosti. The ease with which he earned his 
money tempted him to spend it freely, even extravagantly. He in 
dulged in speculations. With the passing of Queen Victoria his 


songs and his lessons lost their vogue. He died, I believe, a poor and 
forlorn man. 

At every luncheon and dinner one was sure to meet a number of 
interesting people at Pagani's. Sometimes when the artists' table 
was overcrowded, a number of us would adjourn to the so-called 
" artists' room" upstairs, the walls and woodwork of which were 
covered with autographs and drawings by those whose emotions, 
when mixed with Chianti, had imperious need of expression. 

Here it was that I saw Paderewski again, that ever-gallant 
gentleman. Then and always he was an idol and a grand seigneur, 
Always he was fond of company, fond of having his friends about him, 
a spirit eternally young and eternally popular. His society was al 
ways an irresistible delight. 

Busoni, too, was a frequent visitor at Pagani's Feruccio Busoni, 
that giant among musicians, who transposed the whole of the organ 
works of Bach for the piano. In many respects I consider Busoni 
one of the greatest pianists of our time. When Liszt died and the 
music school at Weimar was seeking a new head, it selected Busoni 
as the successor to Abb6 Liszt. 

One day, at my studio, Busoni and Paderewski met, Busoni 
courteously suggested that Paderewski play something for him. 
Paderewski refused to touch the piano before so renowned a figure 
among musicians. Whereupon Busoni also refused to play. The re 
sult was that with two world-famed musicians present in one room, 
no note of music could be heard. 

Many others were frequent visitors at Pagani's, Ysaye, Caruso, 
de Pachmann, Kreisler, to mention only a few. Some of them came 
to my studio nearby and would pose for me for sketches, a number 
of which I still possess. It was a halcyon time, full of music and gay- 
ety, high spirits and lively conversation. On the whole, however, I 
found musicians, with the exception perhaps of a few of the greatest, 
somewhat " touchy" and difficult to deal with. Even a man like 
Ysaye has to be handled tenderly, "with kid gloves/' Lesser lights 


require even more delicate handling. I have often wondered why this 
should be so peculiar to musicians. Is it that contact with the 
public makes one lose one's sense of proportion? If so, I should in 
finitely prefer an art that separates me from the world by the walls of 
the studio, and in which my personal appearance is no essential part 
of my artistic equipment. 

When still in Rome, before I had ever come to London, I had made 
friends with an English watercolor painter, Edward Robert Hughes. 
Hughes belonged to the school of Burne- Jones, Rossetti and Walter 
Crane. And though waning, this school still had a considerable fol 
lowing. All of these men, including Holman Hunt and others, had 
never received any official recognition from the Royal Academy. 
It occurred to a number of enterprising people, therefore, that a gal 
lery which would give those painters an opportunity to exhibit regu 
larly would be favored by the public. 

Such a gallery was soon formed. It was called the New Gallery, 
and for many years was considered an inferior rival to the Academy. 
It was very conveniently situated in Regent Street, almost in the 
shadow of the Academy, and the public that came to see the one, fre 
quently visited the other also. Burne- Jones was the attraction of 
the new institution and drew his own public. This, however, did not 
prevent "other artists, even members of the Royal Academy, from 
sending their pictures in. I recall one year when Sargent had six 
pictures at the Academy and four at the New Gallery. J. J. Shannon 
was a regular exhibitor at both. And so it went. 

There was only one drawback. The management of the New Gal 
lery was in the hands of Charles E. Hall6, a painter of a talent that 
produced mainly soulful portraits with large eyes, small mouths and 
other features to match. Hall6 was not only the manager of the New 
Gallery but also the jury. So that while he ran after the big fish, the 
smaller fry ran after him to be hung. Paintings by himself were 


certain of most careful consideration and in consequence he had no 
dearth of sitters. 

Thus, every year the New Gallery was a motley collection of 
sickly Pre-Raphaelites upon the one hand and vigorous Sargents, 
Shannons and popular Alma-Tademas upon the other. The public 
paid its shilling and was amused. Presently, however, the Royal 
Academy put its house in order and altered its position. It could not 
go on indefinitely closing its doors to artists who had made great 
names at the New English Art Club, the International Society or the 
Chelsea Arts Club. The Academic attitude became more lenient 
toward newcomers, Pre-Raphaelitisrn was diminishing anyway, and 
poor Hall6 encountered the melancholy experience of finally seeing his 
gallery empty, nor could the great blue eyes and the brilliantly gilded 
frames in the center of the main wall his own canvases avail him, 
Artists ceased to send their pictures there and drifted elsewhere to 
other societies and exhibitions. 

In the meantime, Hughes, I must gratefully record, did much to 
familiarize me with the artistic life of London during my early days 
there. Alfred Gilbert was supreme among the sculptors of those 
days. Hughes took me to Gilbert's studio one Sunday afternoon, 
and in Gilbert I discovered one of the most original of all the 
artists I had ever met. His style leaned towards the Gothic, and his 
execution was perfect. He had recently moved into a house in Maida 
Vale, crowded with orders that filled two enormous studios. At one 
and the same time he was making a memorial for the Duke of Clar 
ence, eldest son of the Prince of Wales, which was subsequently placed 
unfinished at St. George's Chapel; he was also preparing a set of large 
panels for Lord Rothschild, intended for Tring, the country place. 
These were never delivered. He had numerous other orders from which 
he was unable to disentangle himself. He worked more in the spirit 
of a Cellini than a Michael Angelo, He would lose himself in endless 
details upon a birthday spoon, which he would finish with exquisite 
taste, or he would fuss over a decorative chain for a Lord Mayor or an 

4!^ : T^t|f 


A Beauty from Australia 


Alderman and would put days and weeks into it, to the neglect of 
bigger work. The Clarence monument he kept on changing perpetu 
ally. And in connection with Lord Rothschild's commission it is 
recounted that when Lord Rothschild came to the studio to inquire 
reproachfully when his panels would be delivered, Gilbert, with an 
engaging smile pointing a finger at the door, said, 

11 My Lord, if my way of working does not please you, then " 
and he waved a hand toward the exit. 

The great millionaire did indeed go out, but he never came back. 
Nor did Gilbert's panels ever find their way to their destination. 

Thus Alfred Gilbert, a man of genius, one of the first in his line, 
was literally overwhelmed by his success. Had the Royal Academy, 
for instance, assigned him a pension, he might have gone on working 
at the things he loved and thus enriched the world with his sublime 
art* But nothing of the sort evidently happened, and Gilbert finally 
resigned from the Academy and permanently left London. 

At my first exhibition in the Royal Academy, in the spring of 
1898, I was represented by three exhibits. First, there was the big 
group of Mother-Love, upon which I had labored so long and so 
hard in Rome; then there was the figure of General Lord Wolseley 
in silver, and finally the bust in marble of Lady Alice Montagu. 

Lady Randolph Churchill, who had seen the bust of Lady Alice 
at the Academy, appeared at my studio one day and introduced her 

"I saw the bust of Lady Alice, " she began quite simply, "and I 
want to ask you whether you would care to make a similar portrait of 

I accepted the commission eagerly, for Lady Randolph was a 
central figure in the London society of that time. Striking and 
distinguished in appearance, with black hair and piercing eyes, she 
had besides a remarkable feminine charm. Her coloring was high 
and she had dimples in her cheeks when she laughed and one in her 


chin. This piercing quality of her eyes, not unlike that of the Ger 
man Emperor, was enhanced by a peculiar droop of the upper eye 
lid. Her speech, in English as well as ia French, was particularly 
exquisite and seemed to belong naturally to her personality. Hers 
was a flashing wit and she was famous for her repartees. Nor was 
she less gifted in music and letters. 

When I first knew her she was at the zenith of an eventful life. A 
widow in her prime, enormously attractive, she was surrounded by 
friends and admirers. Her small house in Great Cumberland Place, 
decorated with rare taste, was distinguished for its parties that were 
crowded by London society. Though lacking in wealth, invitations 
from her were more eagerly sought than those from the palaces in 
Park Lane and Grosvenor Square. That little house was a meeting 
place for all that was highest in art, science, music, political and social 
life. The Prince of Wales often dropped in for tea of an afternoon 
quite informally and so did many other members of the royal family, 
such as the Duke of Connaught or Prince Francis of Teck, 

Her private and domestic life was no less picturesque. Her two 
chief concerns at this time were the upbringing of her two sons and 
the quarterly magazine she had just started, The Anglo-Saxon Review, 
Her oldest son, Winston, then in the early twenties, left for South 
Africa when the Boer war broke out, and the letters he wrote, some of 
which the proud mother read to me during the sittings, already showed 
quite clearly that here was the promising son of illustrious parents, 
who would make his mark in his country's history. Already he was 
gaining both his livelihood and reputation as a war correspondent, 
occasionally even branching out into the domain of fiction. 

His brother John, upon the other hand, was almost his antithesis. 
His ambition was to enter the Army. But although Lady Randolph 
derived an income from some New York real estate on Madison 
Square, the site of the Manhattan Club, her funds were not stifficient 
to permit of John's following his bent. He became a stock broker. 

When Winston returned from South Africa his mother commis- 


sioned me to make a small medal with the profiles of her two boys, one 
on each side, which she always wore around her neck. It was con 
sidered a novel idea and led to a sort of fashion. 

This meant that both the boys were obliged to pose for me. 
And the characteristics of both emerged markedly in the process. 
John, the younger, posed with all the resignation of a martyr, which 
though not flattering to the artist, at least gave him a chance to work. 
Young Winston, on the other hand, was restless, full of ideas and im 
pulses, always in a hurry and eagerly anxious to have the sittings over. 
He was brimming with enthusiasm, self-confidence and plans. 
Shortly after the war he stood for Parliament and won his seat 
triumphantly. His history since then is well known. 

Lady Randolph had a pleasant way of bringing many of her 
friends to the studio. It was so that I came to meet Paul Bourget, 
the French novelist, Sir Eric Drunomond, the diplomat, the Duke and 
Duchess of Marlborough, "Lulu" (Lewis) Harcourt, the Sheridans, 
the Moreton Frewens and many others. 

The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough were among the first to 
come to my studio. The Duke had recently married Consuelo Van- 
derbilt, and they spent most of their time at Blenheim, their magnifi 
cent country seat near Oxford, which a grateful nation had presented 
to the first Duke. Both the Duke and Duchess appeared to be in 
terested in art, and the" Duchess posed to perhaps more artists than 
any other lady in England. Tall and handsome, with her small head 
poised upon a slender neck, a retrouss6 nose and a radiant smile, it was 
no wonder that artists eagerly sought the opportunity of painting 
and modeling her, even making the honorarium an afterthought. 

Blenheim was being Americanized in honor of the American bride. 
Baths and steam heat were installed and the rooms redecorated, es 
pecially the imposing rooms of state, filled with the heirlooms and 
treasures of the house. 

The heir to the Dukedom, the Marquis of Blandford, was then 
one year old. The fond parents thought it was time to begin portray- 


ing him. The Duke commissioned me to make a life-size statue in 
bronze of the infant Marquis. It was decided that it should be a por 
trait in the nude resting upon a cushion. In subjects so youthful it 
is a question whether bronze is preferable to marble. To my view, 
the dark color of bronze, even with the lightest possible pattina 
(coloring produced upon the bronze by means of nitric or other 
acid), cannot compare with the delicate hue of the marble. The 
Duke's predilection was for bronze, and the Duchess having left the 
decision to him, bronze was decided upon and I undertook the 

I traveled down with Lady Randolph Churchill upon my first 
visit to Blenheim and the gathering was limited to a family party. 
With the Marlboroughs we found only his two sisters, Lady Nora 
Churchill and Lady Sybil GrenfclL We arrived late in the afternoon 
and when I was shown to my room in one of the wings of the vast 
house, I realized that I would get all the exercise I needed by merely 
walking to and from the living quarters not without a guide. Con 
sidering that the steam heat and bathrooms had not yet been quite ac 
complished I was very comfortably installed, though one still had to 
content one's self with a flat tub placed upon a blanket in the center 
of the room and a bucket of water for the bath. The comfort of the 
open fire, however, was rich and abundant. A well stocked forest 
upon the ducal estate supplied ample fuel and huge logs diffused a 
glow of heat as well as light. 

When I reached the drawing room (and perhaps it was the dis 
tance that made me late), I found the party already assembled, 
It is conceivable that unwittingly I may have committed some breach 
of etiquette. Or perhaps I presented too timid an appearance since 
at that time I had not yet learned that confidence In one's self sug 
gests the same attitude to others. Possibly I mispronounced some 
English word in my foreign accent in a grotesque manner or perhaps 
my unfashionable clothes contrasted too markedly with those of my 
host. In any case, no sooner had I entered the drawing room than 

Lady Randolph Churchill as Empress Theodora at the Devonshire House Ball on 
the Occasion of ^ueen Victoria s Diamond Jubilee 

A Statuette in Bronze 


suppressed laughter surrounded me. Every effort of the Duke and 
Lady Randolph to be serious and to relieve my embarrassment 
made things only worse. 

To my relief dinner was announced, and the party being so small, I 
was seated next to the Duchess. To ease my embarrassment she let 
a course pass before addressing me. When however she spoke to me 
again and began asking technical questions concerning bronze and 
pattina, her obvious effort to be serious produced shouts of laughter, 
and the more they laughed, the more fiery red became my face. It 
was one of those moments when one looks about for a convenient 
earthquake or a handy avalanche and regrets having ever left the 
silence of the studio. Since then I have learned to join in the laugh 
ter, even if it is against myself. I had other occasions to enjoy the 
hospitality of Blenheim. No doubt my clothes and my pronuncia 
tion had improved. In any case the laughter was not repeated and 
I was glad that, after all, there had been no earthquake or avalanche 
when first I craved them. 

When the bronze of the Marquis of Blandford was finished I re 
ceived one of those slips of paper which, although so small, mean so 
much in our civilization. I trust the Marlborough family were as 
satisfied with my artistic efforts, as their message was cheering to me. 

Several months later upon returning to my studio from abroad, I 
found a small box with a kindly note from the Duchess, which read: 


I am so sorry not to have found you as I have just come over from Paris 
and am only in London for today. I have brought you the little present 
I told you of and which I have been some time in finding as I wanted some 
thing artistic and which I hoped you might like. 

Trusting that you will accept this little Tanagra figure as a souvenir 
from us both of the charming statue you did of our little son, and in remem 
brance of our thanks, 

Yours sincerely, 


So exquisite was the little Tanagra figure that I decided to give 
it eventually a home where it would be safe from the vicissitudes of an 
artist's existence. 

Lady Randolph Churchill's venture into magazine publication 
did not turn out as successfully as she and her friends had hoped. 
Perhaps she laid more stress upon the covers than upon the con 
tents. Each number was bound in a copy of some sumptuous 
specimen of bookbinding and formed a unique item to collectors 
of bindings. Only about twelve numbers, I believe, were issued 

Her kindness, however, was continuous. Through her I met vari 
ous other members of her family including her two sisters Mrs. Jack 
Leslie and Mrs. Moreton Frewen. Mrs. Frewen was the mother of 
Clare Sheridan, since then notable in divers forms of artistic expres 
sion, but at that time only a child of about twelve. Already then 
she differed markedly from other girls of her age. 

She showed evidence of her many gifts. Her visits to the studio 
were always welcome; she nevei developed the stage of what is called 
the " flapper/' For a young girl, her outlook on life was rather re 
markable, and despite her good looks she was never in any sense 
spoiled. Notwithstanding her many social engagements after having 
been introduced to society, she still found time for reading, writing 
and artistic effort. Quite close to the Frewen country place at Brede, 
in Sussex, was a pottery which G. F. Watts, the painter, had erected 
near his studio. There Mrs. Watts was wont to model, bake and 
glaze some unusual decorative panels and specimens in pottery. And 
in that studio, too, Clare Sheridan was in the habit of spending her 
spare time and produced some original pieces of pottery. That evi 
dently was the source of her first training in art. 

The family of her future husband, Wilfred Sheridan, I met at 
about the same time and have known as long. The South African 


war in 1900 took Wilfred's elder brother. Wilfred himself grew up to 
be a splendid chap, fortunate enough to marry Clare, but alas, the late 
war claimed him a victim. 

Among Clare Sheridan's relations by marriage whom I came to 
know were Mrs. William Hall Walker, whose husband's family 
donated the Walker Art Gallery at Liverpool; and "Lulu" Harcourt. 
Lulu (Lewis) Harcourt was a universal favorite with gods and mortals. 
Coming from an illustrious family himself, tall and strikingly hand 
some, he married Miss Burns, a niece of the late J. Pierpont Morgan. 
He entered politics, and it was a proud day for Sir William Harcourt 
when he could introduce his son into Parliament. Young Harcourt 
quickly rose to cabinet rank and became a valued asset to his 

It was a pleasant experience to contemplate his happiness. He 
soon converted his country seat, Nuneham, near Oxford, which had 
come to him in a dilapidated condition, into one of the show places 
of the region. His herbaceous gardens were a thing that experts came 
to see and it was considered remarkable that he knew the Latin and 
botanical name of every plant and shrub in them. To crown his hap 
piness there came a son and heir, and also a Marquisate for the son 
to inherit. In addition to that, moreover, another Harcourt, a 
bachelor, possessed of many of the heirlooms of the French family of 
Harcourt, died and left them to his famous English relation. His cup 
of happiness seemed complete. Together with his love for art he had 
the gift of friendship. He often came to my studio and I had the 
pleasure of painting both him and his wife. At the church at Nune 
ham is also a memorial which he commissioned me to fashion to the 
memory of his father, Sir William Harcourt, who sleeps in close prox 
imity to the son who was his pride and joy and who has carried on 
the work to perpetuate his name and memory. The memorial occu 
pies the space on the main wall in the chapel which Lulu transformed 
with such exquisite taste from a ramshackle old building into a gem 
of beauty. It is but a few steps from the manor house and adjoins 


the little graveyard with its quaint moss-covered tombstones testify 
ing to days gone by. 

Indeed, those first three or four years of mine in London were ex 
ceedingly busy ones. Interesting people were constantly coming to 
the studio. Aside from the musicians, such as Paderewski, Busoni and 
Ysaye, of whom I have spoken, there were many others. 

Sir Arthur Pinero, the dramatist, who had come to see the bust of 
Forbes Robertson, posed for his bust too. He was at that time at the 
height of his fame, and his pieces were playing all over the country, as 
well as in America. His The Second Mrs. Tangueray, in which Mrs. 
Patrick Campbell was starring, The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith and 
The Gay Lord Quex were considered masterpieces of stagecraft. 

Of Portuguese origin, his sharply marked, clean-shaven face and 
bushy black eyebrows gave him an aquiline appearance. His fore 
head, as the phrase is, extended all the way to his neck, and altogether 
made him an easy subject for caricaturists. With all that, he was al 
ways faultlessly dressed. 

Being at times a guest at his house, I had opportunity to observe his 
working habits. He was accustomed to take an early dinner when en 
gaged upon a play and to retire to his study until the early morning, 
with a light meal somewhere in the small hours. Of mornings he slept 
late and, upon arising, he would take a long walk before his next bout 
of work. His constant companion upon these walks was a charming 
girl, his step-daughter, whom he treated as though she were his own. 
A letter from Lady Pinero at the time when Sir Arthur was much 
occupied with his writing may be of interest: 


I wonder whether you and your sister would care about coming and 
sharing our plain family lunch next Sunday at I :i5 or 1 :30 sharp. No 
party only just ourselves. We cannot entertain or give any functions 
whilst Sir Arthur is writing and as he is very busy and will be for a short 
time longer, it's hopeless to try and give any parties. 


; & 

Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson 


My husband so enjoys seeing a friend to lunch therefore if you are 
both disengaged on Sunday, do walk 'round and eat our simple meal. My 
husband must rest at three o'clock. I am sure, however, you won't mind 
this. I don't rest and we can chat on. 

Sincerely yours, 

Nov. 24th 

He took the labor of posing for his bust as seriously as everything 
else. Many of the stage stars of that period came to see him at my 
studio. The two Vanbrugh sisters, of whom Irene was by far the 
more gifted, often came in. And with Irene came her husband, Dion 
Boucicault, whose art in producing a play already assured half its 

Sir Squire Bancroft, the actor-manager, was another friend of Sir 
Arthur's who sometimes drifted in if one may speak of so grandiose 
a figure drifting. With his white hair, his jet-black and highly 
polished moustache, his black-rimmed monocle, high collar and stock 
and flat-brimmed silk hat, he presented the last word of dandyism. 
A lifelong friend of Sir Arthur Pinero's, he would come in to relieve 
the sitter of the tedium of posing and to take him out for walks. 

Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, manager of His Majesty's Theater, 
was another personage of the theater I came to know. So ably did 
Sir Herbert manage his theater that not even his own acting could ruin 
his productions. Spectacular, and never neglecting the detail and 
pageantry of his stageries, he was always careful in the selection of 
Ms actors with the exception of himself. His daughter, Miss Viola 
Tree, must also have presented some problems to him in the casting 
of her vis-l-vis, since in stature she took after her father. 

Another of Sir Arthur's friends whom I came to know was Sir 
George Alexander, proprietor of St. James' Theater, where so many 
of the Pinero plays were first produced. The popularity of Sir George 
closely approached idolatry, and even in his worst failures he could 
always count upon a solid pit and balcony and a crowd of maidens 


anxious to see him emerging from the stage door. I have often won 
dered about the reasons for this worship. The shape of his face was 
irregular, having nothing of the symmetry of feature which so often 
helps to make a stage star. His dress in private life was on the care 
less side rather than otherwise. Yet, upon the stage, he presented 
the exact reverse of all these things and was popular for his stage 
looks as much as for his acting. Unlike Tree, he never seemed to 
trouble much about the technical intricacies of his performances, he 
had no school connected with his theater for the cultivation of tragedy 
and pathos, he needed none of those things; he simply was. 

Frank Schuster, brother of the banker, Sir Felix Schuster, was an 
other figure of those days in London. Though a bachelor, he kept a 
delightful house with an especially built-in music-room in the oldest, 
most aristocratic part of London, Westminster. Every Friday night he 
had a dinner for the few privileged friends and music for all the rest 
who came in afterward. His musical evenings became celebrated. 
So great a mark of distinction was it to perform at those musicales, 
that one could be sure of hearing only the best of the talents. It was 
there I first heard Faur6, organist of the Madeleine, and some of his 
songs, famous since then, were just beginning to be appreciated in 
England. I have heard Faur6 often since, for I never failed to go to the 
Madeleine whenever I was in Paris. Schuster's musicales were more 
sought after than even those of Mrs. Ronalds, another well-known 
musical hostess, because Schuster, it seemed, could select better 
audiences and better artists. 

But no musical host or hostess in London exceeded the exclusive- 
ness and magnificence of Mrs. Sam Lewis in Grosvenor Square. 

Sana Lewis was the most successful money lender of his time a 
veritable prince of money lenders. His dealings were confined almost 
entirely to the aristocracy. Whenever a young man of a great house 
would find himself temporarily embarrassed by misfortune upon the 
turf or at cards, he would go to Sam Lewis and make his bargain with 
him. How well old Sam knew how to conduct his business is proven 


by the fact that when he died, he left an estate of about four million 
pounds sterling some twenty million dollars. He had his good 
points, too. If ever a poor artist or musician came to him for a loan 
of a few hundred pounds, and Lewis could be convinced as to the 
truth of the story, he usually presented the man with the money. 

The Lewis house in Grosvenor Square was a gorgeous mansion. 
To the right of it was the Spanish, and on the left, the Japanese em 
bassy. Three houses farther on lived Lord Farquhar, the Master of 
the Royal Household, and next was the town house of the Duke of 
Portland. The interior was in perfect taste, decorated entirely by 
Frenchmen. The walls of the rooms were paneled in carved wood in 
the period of Louis Fifteenth and Sixteenth, some of the panels re 
moved bodily from French palaces. Every piece of furniture was 
a genuine antique. The table service was of solid silver and Sdvres 
porcelain. The servants, giants all of them, wore an awe-inspiring 
black livery. The butler, in the entrance hall receiving a visitor, gave 
the impression of ushering one in to the Prime Minister. 

Lewis had as his hobbies the turf and games of chance. But the 
one great hobby of Mrs. Lewis was music. She was a short lady, 
generously corpulent, ambitious, and had a reputation for kindness. 
Nightly during the season she could be seen at the opera in Covent 
Garden in her box and there was no mistaking her, because of her 
size and the magnitude of her jewels. At her own house she had 
frequent concerts. And as her music director, a Viennese pianist, 
was a friend of mine, I was sometimes asked to these performances. 
No rarer treat was imaginable. She had her own particular quar 
tette, all musicians of distinction who had to practice weeks ahead. 
For the performance she would provide each of them with a priceless 
Stradivarius, or Guarnerius. And if the program demanded a solo 
ist, she would select either Kreisler or another artist of equal rank. 

Sometimes not more than four or five people would be invited to 
such a performance. The audience, however, consisted largely in her 
self. In a dark corner in the far end of the room she would sit apart 


drinking in the wonderful music. At times, she was perfectly content 
to invite some great artist to perform for her alone, without any other 
audience, and pay him, so it was said, possibly a thousand pounds for 
his appearance. Whether it was the size of the fees or the apprecia 
tion they met with, artists were eager to perform before her and to 
give her the best of themselves. 

In these tastes of Mrs. Lewis her husband did not share. His suc 
cess on the turf was sufficient for him. After his death, at the begin 
ning of this century, when his will was opened, it began with the 

"I took it from the lord, I leave it to the poor/' 

He bequeathed one million pounds, no less, to the hospital fund 
which King Edward, as Prince of Wales, started upon the occasion of 
Queen Victoria's Jubilee. The balance he left to his widow for life, 
with a reversion to the same benefaction. All London was dumb 
founded. The King sent Lord Farquhar in person to express his sym 
pathy to the widow, and his gratification at the bequest. He desired 
that every consideration be shown Mrs. Lewis in, London thereafter. 
People of all ranks went out of their way to fulfil the King's desire. 

In due course Mrs. Lewis was presented at Court- Upon that occa 
sion an equerry was sent to conduct her into the presence of their majes 
ties. Had she appeared more soberly attired, that presentation might 
have gone far toward establishing the general good will she craved all 
her life. But perhaps she was ill advised. In any case, she made her 
appearance in a somewhat extravagant costume overburdened with 
jewelry. Thereby she exposed herself to much criticism and even 
ridicule. Subsequently it was announced that she was about to marry 
a young officer of the Guards. Her marriage did not tend to expand 
her former life. Her solitude rather increased than otherwise, and 
when she died, she was as much alone as in the days when her first 
husband was still living. 


"He raised the mortals to the skies." (Pepys.) 

the spring of 1899 Paderewski was in London, and 
with his usual bonhomie, cordially invited me to visit 
him that summer at Morges, his summer home near 
Lausanne, in Switzerland. An invitation from Pa 
derewski is something few people could resist. I 
was no exception, 

I arrived at Morges about the middle of September and found my 
host in his usual high spirits. He had recently married Madame 
Gorska and an atmosphere of joy pervaded the place. The house it 
self, as simple and unpretentious as one of the smaller French cMteaux, 
was beautifully situated on the Lake of Geneva and surrounded by 
gardens perfectly kept. In one of the drawing rooms was a collection 
of Steinway pianos, which the manufacturers had sent to him after 
his American tours when he had played upon their instruments. 
A large staircase winding along the walls left an open space in the 
center, through which the light streamed from above. The house 
was staffed with his own Polish servants including a cook who pre 
pared the national dishes, which featured every meal. 

There were other visitors, of course, mostly members of the family 
and among them Hugo Gorlitz, Paderewski's manager. The house 
not being large enough to hold all the guests, Gorlitz and myself 
tenanted a little cottage nearby upon the estate, but we all took our 
meals at the family table. 

It was in many ways a memorable visit. Paderewski, with those 



about him for whom he cared, was radiantly happy. Indeed, I have 
never seen anyone more boyishly delightful, and this radiance he had a 
faculty of conveying to others. In the morning he would appear in 
white flannels which he wore all day. That, however, was never in the 
early morning, for in those hours the master was not to be disturbed. 
At about twelve o'clock he would begin practicing upon his piano, 
hours which gave me occasion for making my sketches of him. After 
lunch we would take long walks, or drive until dinner, at a fairly early 
hour, for the meal was only a prelude to a merry, delightful evening. 
We would improvise games, or theatricals, and sometimes his son, 
then still living and gifted in writing, would provide some amusing 
skit for us to play in. Some evenings there would be cards or dancing 
with Paderewski playing the tunes. 

It would be idle to attempt to describe Paderewski himself in 
these circumstances. Everyone knows him and knows enough of him 
to be convinced that he is one of those super-men who would have 
been great in whatever he might have cared to undertake. People 
of his sort inevitably improve upon closer acquaintance, because only 
then one comes to realize the multitude of gifts and human qualities 
which go to make up a truly great man. 

Even then the Paderewski house already contained many of the 
efforts of those who had tried to perpetuate his features in marble, 
bronze or paint. Of these the portrait by Alma-Tadema, even, did not 
seem to me to be successful. And to the best of my knowledge Alma- 
Tadema had painted only two portraits, one of his doctor and the 
other of Paderewski, which I saw. Another friend of Paderewski's, a 
certain Doctor Nossik, who could paint, write and sculpt, did a medal 
lion of the musician during my stay at Morges which I considered 
good. But for the most part the efforts to portray Paderewski ap 
peared to me ineffectual. And the most recent of them seem the 
least successful, not to say libelous. Not long ago I saw some busts 
of him in plaster, and if Michael Angelo's phrase that "clay is life, 
plaster is death, and marble is the resurrection' ' be true, then I hope 


Portrait of an Artist 

(George Drinkwater) 


that there will be no effort made to change those heads from their 
present plaster stage. 

The reason for my view, if I may state it, is that most of his por- 
trayers seem to depict him too slavishly. Paderewski, the essential 
man, like his forerunner, Chopin, so far transcends the frame and 
features which first meet the eye, that too exact a copy of his small 
chin and broad cheekbones, and such folds and wrinkles as he may 
have acquired with time, in reality belie the real Paderewski. In a 
portrait of him, to my mind, there must be mystery because mystery 
envelops the entire personality of the man and his music. Every 
feature in his face ought to convey that high sensitiveness which is 
the chief charm of his art. From the very moment he sits down at 
his instrument, before he ever touches it, the whole room is drenched 
in an atmosphere which is almost inexpressible, because it is so mys 
terious. That is what distinguishes him from all other musicians. 
There may be and I believe there are better performers, performers 
more even, more forceful and perhaps even more brilliant, but no one 
else radiates that inexplicable charm which takes hold of us the mo 
ment we come in contact with him. 

First of all, it would seem to me, an artist in reproducing the fea 
tures of Paderewski must stress the great forehead with the two marked 

eminences over the eyebrows, said to be the storehouse of music. 
Then there are the eyes, so captivating with their dreamy look and 
peculiar for their combination of dark color and light lashes, with the 
lids so prominent that they give an effect of the impenetrable when 


they are really meant to look kind. An emphasis laid upon the sensi 
tive mouth and the small moustache turned in at the corners would, I 
think, complete the picture of the man who is so remarkable a com 
bination of knowledge, determination, patriotism and sublime poetry. 
Of all the likenesses of Paderewski that I know, perhaps the one by 
Burne- Jones comes nearest to the idealization that one would wish 
to see handed down to posterity. 

The visit to Morges had brought me delightful restoration after a 
busy and preoccupied London season. Previous to that, soon after I 
had finished the portrait bust of Sir Arthur Ellis' younger daughter, 
she had become engaged to be married, I naturally sought an oppor 
tunity of showing my gratitude for a hospitality always so cordial, and 
by way of a wedding present, I decided to make for Miss Ellis a small 
medal with her father's portrait attached to a little chain as a bracelet. 
At the! ^wedding reception my little gift was displayed, and shortly 
after, Sir Arthur conceived the idea of having several more medals 
struck from the dies I had made and to insert them in small gifts, such 
as ash trays, ink stands, paper knives and cigarette cases. These ob 
jects he distributed to members of the Royal Family and the Royal 
household and friends where it was the habit to exchange^ Christmas 
gifts. This small specimen of my work it was that first came to the 
attention of King Edward, then Prince of Wales. 

One afternoon in June, 1899, the Prince, accompanied only 
by ! an equerry, came quite unannounced to my studio. My sur 
prise and happiness to see him thus walking in at my door would 
b 'difficult to describe. -And he' began with his usual genial affa 

"Mr. Fuchs, I saw your medal of General Sir Arthur Ellis in 
fact, I see it every day on the ash tray he gave me for Christmas. I 
consider it a happy idea and a good likeness. Do you think you 
could make a similar one for me?" 

"I am almost sure of it, Sir," I answered. "If your Royal High 
ness could grant me a few sittings " 


"I will, and you can begin now," said the Prince. "If you have 
your material at hand I will give you half an hour/' 

It need hardly be said that I had and without delay he mounted 
the model stand and sank into what I hope was a comfortable chair. 
I offered him a cigarette, apologizing for its quality, but he took it and 
smiled. I watched the expression of his face to see whether the smile 
would change after the first puff. 

1 ' How long have you been in England? " he inquired. I told him, 
and took occasion to add how happy I was in his country and that I 
owed my presence there to the little incident of the visit of Miss Ellis 
to my studio in Rome. 

II Is my pose right? " he asked. " You must tell me, if it is not/' 

II 1 will, Sir," I assured him, " but for the sculptor a motionless pose 
is not so essential as it is for painting." 

Captain Holf ord, the equerry, had in the meantime seated himself 
in the far end of the room, maintaining entire silence. Once the 
Prince was at ease in his pose, he began to address the equerry, who 
immediately came forward. 

"You must' remind me, George, to give Mr. Fuchs another sitting 
before I leave for Marienbad." 

Observing that the Prince was no longer smoking, I interrupted 
my work and ventured to offer him another cigarette. 

" Thank you very much," he smiled. "I think I had better smoke 
one of my own, which are milder." 

But I am glad to say that was the only occasion when I was un 
able to offer my august sitter a smoke not to his taste. Presently he 

"When you get to a point where you feel you can make a pause, 
please let me know." 

The only reply in such a case was to assure him that that point 
was then and there, and I immediately laid my tool aside. Where 
upon he descended from the stand, caine over and looked at my work 
and then began, with his customary urbane smile: 


tl l should like to ask you a delicate question. But I must tell 
you first that recently I had some unpleasant experience with an 
artist " (and he mentioned a name) "who kept on drawing advances 
without ever completing his work. How much will this medal cost? " 

For a moment, I own, I was embarrassed. Finally I said to him: 

"Your Royal Highness ' visit and graciousness has somewhat be 
wildered me. If I don't express myself as I should wish, I trust 
nevertheless that my answer will not be taken amiss. I should have 
liked to beg of Your Royal Highness that I be permitted to pass over 
the question of money altogether. All my life it has been embarrass 
ing to me. Your Royal Highness' visit has brought something into 
my life like sunshine which no amount of money could have procured, 
and I think this should be more than ample. But since I am asked 
a direct question I should suggest that" (I mentioned a certain 
sum) "would be paying me royally. 

Perhaps my answer still had a foreign note about it. In any case, 
the Prince laughed heartily and said, 

"We shall never again have occasion to discuss this subject/' 

Then, asking for a sheet of paper, he wrote two autographs with a 
date (A. E. September 9, '99) and he asked me to choose one for the 
reverse of the medal "Do you think you could finish the medal by 
that time?" he asked. 

"It will be my most serious endeavor, Sir," said L 

Then he said, "I am going to Marienbad soon. I shall try to give 
you another sitting before I leave, but should I not be able to do so 
and you desire anything, you will write me?" 

He offered his hand. The equerry followed his example, and ere I 
was aware of his intention, had anticipated me to the studio door lead 
ing into the corridor and opened it. At the entrance, in a state 

Italian Afettv Vendor 



closely verging on collapse my old housekeeper was waiting to do her 
part in gracefully honoring our royal visitor. The sturdy cob drew 
up with prancing step ; both gentlemen quickly entered the brougham; 
they bowed again; the Prince smiled; instantly the rubber wheels 
rolled silently over the asphalt and the clang of the horse's hoofs faded 
into the distance. 

Before leaving for Marienbad, the Prince contrived to give me 
another sitting and upon that occasion he commissioned me to make a 
marble bust of Miss Louvima Knollys, daughter of his private secre 
tary, Sir Francis, later, Lord Knollys. The name Louvima is made 
up from the names of the three daughters of King Edward: Louise, 
Princess Royal; Princess Victoria; and Queen Maud of Norway. 
The bust was to be a Christmas gift for Sir Francis and a surprise, 
which made the arrangement of sitting difficult. Lady Knollys, how 
ever, was in the plot and helped by bringing the child whenever 
she could. 

As before, the Prince came accompanied only by a single equerry 
and both were in civilian dress. Unlike the custom of the German 
Emperor, the Prince never wore uniform or decorations except upon 
state occasions. He drove about town in a brougham drawn by a 
single horse, with no footman on the box. In public his equerry 
would maintain the etiquette of silence, except when addressed. In 
private, however, the etiquette between them was not quite so rigid. 

After his cure at Marienbad, which lasted three weeks, the Prince 
returned to England to inaugurate the shooting season. On his way 
through town he gave me an opportunity of showing him the work I 
had done in the meantime. The idea of distributing gifts with a 
small! medallion of himself inserted in them pleased him greatly. To 
use it the following Christmas he had about one hundred more of the 
medals struck with the reverse in another form. He also spoke of 
a medallion in marble which he desired me to make in memory of his 
brother, Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, and subsequently Duke oi Saxe- 
Coburg, which he wished to place in the little church at Sandring- 



ham. In all of these things he took keen interest even to the smallest 
details. As his brother's portrait was to be in the uniform of an ad 
miral, an office he had held prior to ascending the throne of Cobttrg, 
the Prince himself explained the particular uniform and decorations 
he desired. 

Sketches for the Panels In the Memorial for II, J. Ileim, Pittsburgh 


" Oppress'd with awe and stupid at the wondrous things he saw. " (Dry den.) 

HE day before Christmas that year, London was en 
veloped in one of those heavy, yellow fogs which can 
make that city gloomier than any other upon the 
face of the earth. My work for the Prince had all 
been delivered, including the marble bust of Louvima 
Knollys for the Prince's secretary. It was early in the afternoon, and 
I began to wonder how I was going to spend Christmas eve, when a 
messenger came with a note from Marlborough House which read: 

The Prince of Wales invites you to Sandringliam. His Royal High 
ness wishes to consult you about the position of the memorial to the Duke 
of Coburg about to be erected in Sandringham Church. You are asked to 
travel down by the 2:35 P.M. train from St. Pancras to Wolferton Station. 
Sir Arthur Ellis is also invited. 


This was an entirely new experience to me. I was not in the least 
prepared for it. No time, obviously, was to be lost if I was to make 
the train. Hastily I unearthed my valise and my housekeeper bustled 
about filling it with whatever she could lay hands on. 

I made the train only by flashing upon the cabman the Royal arms 
on the letter with one hand and the color of a gold piece with the 
other. I never knew which it was that impressed him the more. 
Those were the days before taxicabs and one had to figure with the 
whims of a cynical worldly wise old beast, who thought little of royal 



emblems or gold. Even the whip seemed to leave that aged hackney 
cold. I just managed to board the train, leaping upon the first car 
riage that my hand could clutch. 

It was one of the luggage vans, filled with the most carefully 
marked trunks, boxes and portmanteaux I had ever beheld. The 
sporting guests had their racing colors painted upon their luggage so 
as to make it easier to identify. And such quaint colors they were 

I walked through the carriages until I discovered the friendly 
face of General Sir Arthur Ellis, the equerry, to whom I breath 
lessly apologized for my appearance. He was already aware of my 
visit and invited me to make myself comfortable in his compartment, 
not difficult in that luxurious private carriage which the Midland 
Railroad provided for the Royal Family. Our first stop was Cam 
bridge. At the second, Ely, the station master called my name, as the 
Prince wished to know whether I had made the train. At Wblferton, 
the next station, we were met by the royal carriages which took! 'us 
to Sandringham House, Before entering the Prince genially intro 
duced the guests to one another. It was a family party with only a 
few old friends. 

The Royal ladies were already assembled in the great living hall, 
a room perhaps forty by fifty feet with the dining hall and the recep 
tion rooms grouped about it. In one corner was a large piano and 
facing it a settee with a table, upon which tea was awaiting the 
guests. A log fire was crackling cheerfully in the enormous fireplace 
close to the tea table, near which were grouped the Princess of Wales, 
her daughter, Princess Victoria, and Miss Knollys, The Prince 
courteously presented me to them and to the members of the house 
hold and tea was served. The Princess poured it out herself. 

Once the presentation was over, with the required formalities of a 
low bow from the gentlemen and a well managed curtsy on the part of 
the ladies, it seemed to become everyone's endeavor, particularly the 
Royal Family's, to make taie feel thoroughly at ease. The Princess 


King Edward VII 
When Prince of Wales 

When Princess of Wales 


and her daughter made conversation in which the Prince and the 
gentlemen joined. As for my part, I kept silent and as much as pos 
sible in the background. The Prince, upon observing this, at once in 
vited me to draw nearer and to join them, the Princess and her daugh 
ter graciously engaging me in conversation, and the pleasant atmos 
phere and warmth after the long, cold drive began to penetrate me 
and I experienced a delightful feeling of comfort. 

No sooner was tea over, than the Prince invited all the guests to 
the weighing machine at the other end of the room, attended by a 
servant, to ascertain the weights of all the arrivals. This is an old 
custom maintained in the house since the illustrious hosts first in 
habited it. The machine was equipped with a comfortable armchair 
and, as the servant announced the weight of each one, a book was 
handed to the guest in which he inscribed his name, address, the date 
of arrival and, should he care to do so, some " remark " in a space 
specially provided. This book is a collection of perhaps the most cele 
brated names that any human being could assemble, with the odd 
addition of their weights. It was amusing to see to what extent this 
displayed the little weaknesses even of the great. Under the rubric 
"remarks " one could read apologetic notes like this: "Very heavy 
walking suit/' or, "Soaking wet coining in from the rain/' or, "Just 
after dinner." Others would write down a few lines of verse, or 
scrawl a funny drawing. Some of these contributions were surpris 
ingly clever and amusing. 

Then an equerry came to the newcomer to show him the wing of 
the house where he could lounge or write, read or smoke without dis 
turbing the hosts in their living quarters. This room is an enormous 
library adjoining the big haU and filled with books to the ceiling in 
shelves of light oak. The furniture was upholstered in red leather. 
No more delightful lounging room could be devised. 

Once the ladies had retired to dress for dinner, the Prince joined 
his guests for a short while in the library. Adjoining the library was 
the billiard room with an immense and notable screen upon which 


appeared the heads of the foremost in every profession of the realm. 
The walls were covered with sporting prints. The house was a mass of 
flowers, and the rooms were crowded with interesting furniture, brie- 
d-brac, and objects assembled from all over the globe, such as hunting 
trophies, huge elephant tusks from India and Africa, priceless gifts 
from Maharajahs, Kaisers, Kings, Sultans, Chieftains and lesser 
mortals. Each object had its inscription, date and some explanatory 
remark. It would take too long to attempt to describe these even 
superficially. The house was in reality a museum. 

Upon a word from the Prince perhaps that it was time to dress for 
dinner, the equerry-in-waiting or the master of the household or per- 
Jbaps one of the Gentlemen Butlers showed the guests to their quarters. 
The room assigned to me was in the bachelor quarter, which one 
could reach through long corridors in a wing newly added. It was 
simple but comfortable, and when I entered it I found a valet busily 
engaged over my open portmanteau distributing the contents. 

41 Pardon, Sir, my saying so/ 1 observed the man, "but your valet 

must have forgotten " and he enumerated a number of objects he 

had failed to find. An embarrassment fell upon rne and the closer to 
the bottom of the portmanteau we came, the more that embarrass 
ment grew. There were no white ties, no white waistcoats and the 
shirts were innocent of cuff links. The haste, moreover, with which 
the clothes had been thrown into the bag neither added to the smart 
ness of my appearance nor reflected credit on the precision of my 
household. I decided to make a clean breast of it all and to throw my 
self upon the mercy of the man. I told him that I was neither Knight 
nor Noble, but simply an artist without a valet, with only an old 
housekeeper who knew nothing of packing for such a party, and that I 
must commend myself to his consideration. He departed and, after 
evidently holding council with the proper authorities, returned, com 
pletely self-possessed and informed me that everything would be 
provided, by order of the Gentleman Butler. And, truly, in a short 
time all the things arrived and all my lacks were made good. 

Shteen Alexandra 
When Princess of Wales 


Doubtless, that valet had reported my plight to his superior, tell 
ing it in confidence to perhaps one other friend. That friend had prob 
ably whispered it to someone else. In any case, my story must have 
penetrated to the highest quarters. For the next day when we were 
all walking to church, the Prince noted that I was wearing patent 
leather boots and remarked, laughing, 

11 1 hope, Mr. Fuchs, you won't catch cold in those thin boots.'* 

" Pardon, Sir," I answered, trying to smile too, "but I was under 
the impression that at Sandringham eternal sunshine reigned. " 

With a light tap at the door a servant announced the dinner hour 
that first evening, and mentioned the particular foreign orders that 
were to be worn. Different decorations were worn upon different 
occasions, depending upon whom the Prince desired to honor thus. 
So that upon one occasion the command would go forth, " Danish 
orders will be worn tonight/' or, upon another, " Greek orders will 
be worn. 1 ' As to those, however, it was a relief to know that they 
could not have been omitted from the contents of my bag. 

If I describe the life of the Royal household at Sandringham in 
some detail, I do it because it calls to my memory some very delight 
ful times and a spacious, happy period in English history which has 
meant much in my personal life-span. 

The dinner hour was changed every night. It depended upon the 
program of the day. Generally the hour was eight o'clock or a quarter 
past, but sometimes as late as half past. 

The etiquette of the house demanded that the guests assemble 
five minutes before the appointed time in the drawing room adjoining 
the hall, where the ladies and gentlemen of the household were al 
ready waiting. That first evening there was General Sir Dighton 
Probyn, a veteran of the Crimean War, with his picturesque, long, 
white beard. He was the comptroller of the Prince's household. Cap 
tain Fortescue was the equerry on duty, and then there were Sir 
Francis Knollys with Lady Knollys and daughter, Louvima; his sister, 
Miss Knollys, Lady in Waiting to the Princess of Wales; Sir Arthur 



Ellis, Sir Edward Hamilton, Sir Edgar Wallace, a special corre 
spondent of the Times who accompanied the Prince on his journeys 
and wrote the official reports; Lord Marcus Beresford, keeper of 
the Prince's stables, and perhaps one or two other personal friends. 


The household engaged the guests in conversation and presently 
the equerry-in-waiting addressed each one and showed upon the chart 
the place he or she was to occupy at the table. In case a lady was to 
be escorted to the dining room by royalty she was notified at that 
time; and in the same manner a man singled out for such an honor 
was similarly apprized. The rattle of the doorknobs gave the sign 


that the Royal hosts were approaching and all conversation immedi 
ately ceased. The doors were thrown open wide and the family en 
tered in procession. First came the Prince and Princess of Wales; 
then the Duke and Duchess of York, who lived in York Cottage 
upon the estate; Princess Victoria, the unmarried daughter; Prince 
and Princess Charles of Denmark, the former a nephew of the Princess 
of Wales, who had married Princess Maud; and the Duke and 
Duchess of Fyfe, son-in-law of the royal host and husband of the 
Princess Royal, with his Duchess. 

The guests formed a semicircle and the hosts went from one to an 
other, saying a few words to each, until another pair of doors was 
thrown open and the equerry-in- waiting announced to the Prince that 
dinner was served. The procession formed quickly according to the 
plan of the table and walked into the dining room. 

That room at Sandringham is large enough to seat fifty people if 
necessary. It is finished in light oak with panels of tapestries in reds 
and blues against a light background. The sideboards were then 
loaded with silver ornaments, mostly cups and other sporting trophies, 
some of them of enormous size, and all with their appropriate in 

These were changed every day. So was the centerpiece upon the 
table and the whole flower arrangement, in itself a work of art and 
beauty. The table with its profusion of silver, flowers and candle 
light was a picture difficult to describe. 

Orice the guests were seated the courses followed each other in a 
quick succession. The servants, gorgeous in their scarlet liveries 
braided with gold, were almost as numerous as the guests. Noise 
lessly, they glided about quietly directed by their superiors. The 
Prince was always attended by his own butler who served him even 
when he dined out. The menu was elaborate and so selected that it 
must satisfy any taste. As may be noted from the menu repro 
duced there were two services, two distinctly different dinners, the 
courses of each being offered to the guests. A variety of ices was 


served and with each course a different wine. No guest was expected 
to eat at a more leisurely pace than the Royal Family. As a matter 
of fact, notwithstanding the elaborate bill of fare, dinner never lasted 
more than an hour. If a guest talked too much, he found his plates 
changed before he had had time to taste of the dishes. 

The conversation was free and animated, the household always 
assisting it to an uninterrupted close. The sonorous voice of the 
Prince carried over the entire table and dominated. When the Prince 
rose, all rose and two gentlemen of the household leaped to the doors 
and stood upon either side while the guests proceeded to one of the 
drawing rooms. 

There the tone was easy and unconstrained. Personal friends of 
the family were as free here as they might be in their own homes. 
Royalty, like everyone else, is fond of laughter and a good joke, and 
knowing this, some of the guests provided themselves with funny 
stories. After all, laughter is the best medium by which to dispel 
the embarrassment inevitable when we consider the disparity in rank 
among those present. That particular evening Lord Marcus Beres- 
ford was so amusing that the entire party was roaring with laughter, 
so that the Princess was obliged from time to time to ask him to curb 
his pace and give the company a breathing spell Lord Marcus had a 
sharp eye for the little weaknesses of others and he was able to bring 
them forward in a salient and amusing light. Nor did he always 
confine himself to the absent. Often some of those present had to 
listen to stories and jokes upon themselves. And if they showed any 
embarrassment, that only increased the general hilarity. Sometimes 
guests known to be musicians were asked to play or to sing while 
coffee was being served before bridge playing began. Soon after half 
past ten the ladies retired upstairs, the men adjourning to the billiard 
room. There the Prince engaged in conversation with some, the 
while others played. So far as I and my work were concerned, I 
found during that and other visits that no matter how preoccupied 
the Prince might be, he always found time to send for me and to dis- 

S ai \(lring}iara, 
,,- ''. Norfolk. 



A7^ George V 
When Duke of York 


When Duchess of York 


cuss what he wished me to do. He arranged to be at the church at 
certain hours, to go over the plans on the spot and to give the matter 
of the memorial his undivided attention. 

Often I had occasion to marvel at his extraordinary memory. A 
quite casual suggestion he would remember long afterward and refer 
to it accurately. One day while I was making a bust of his brother 
for the Duchess of Coburg he chanced to see it at my studio just 
before he left for his annual cure at Marienbad, and he made a trifling 
criticism concerning the coat upon the figure, which he asked me to 
transmit to the Duchess. At a later visit, long afterward, he asked to 
see the bust and the effect which his suggestion had produced. 

It seemed to be customary at Sandringharn for the Royal ladies to 
bring their pet dogs down to dinner. Both the Princess of Wales and 
the Princess Victoria habitually brought down their favorites, King 
Charles spaniels. However, the Prince's bulldog was compelled to 
wait until his master came to the billiard room later in the evening. 
That dog was devoted to his master and his master to him. Except 
ing at the dinner hour they were inseparable. And when the dog died, 
it took some time before the Prince could console himself with another 

As the evening wore on the Prince finally rose and said: 

11 Gentlemen, I bid you goodnight.' 1 Whereupon an equerry ad 
vanced to escort the Prince out of the room. The guests followed. 
In the hall a servant handed a lighted candle to each one, the Prince 
shook hands and soon the house was wrapped in silence. 

Situated in Norfolk about a mile from the sea, Sandringham is 
said to receive the air direct and unimpeded from the shores of Den 
mark. The Prince bought the house shortly after his marriage to 
Princess Alexandra of Denmark in 1861. Originally it was quite 
small, but as the family increased one addition after another was 
made until, in 1871, it was replaced by the building as it is today, a 
handsome edifice of brick and stone in the Tudor style. Later, as the 
children married, cottages for them were erected on the estate; Apple- 


ton House for Prince and Princess Charles of Denmark (now King 
Haakon and Queen of Norway) and York Cottage for the Duke and 
Duchess of York, the present King and Queen. Both of those houses 
are simple and unpretentious. The grounds, some seven thousand 
acres, are planted with pine and well stocked with birds for the shoot 
ing season. About the house are gardens carefully laid out, in long 
alleys with sculptures in bronze and marble, large vases, European and 
Oriental, some in Japanese cloisonnS, all of which add much to the 
decorative effect of the park. Not far from the house are the orchards, 
the vegetable and flower gardens. There are beds calculated to pro 
duce certain effects of color at certain times of the year according to 
the taste of different members of the family. There are pergolas over 
grown with roses and sundials of boxwood with the numerals in 
flowers of varied colors, 

Some of the Prince's friends, upon one occasion, knowing the pleas 
ure he took in his garden, commissioned Alma-Tadema to design a 
large marble bench, such as we often see in his pictures, and to super 
vise the laying out of the surrounding landscape. That remains a 
striking and effective decoration. Numerous trees have been planted 
about the house by the Royal family and their relations to commemo 
rate a variety of events, such as births, marriages or foreign visits 
as the inscriptions indicate. Some of the trees, when I saw them, 
were already grown to full size, while others were still hardly more 
than saplings. In addition to all this there are almost miles of hot 
houses of teakwood, which the Prince preferred to steel, and to which 
he called attention with pride all richly stocked with flowers, 
fruits and ferns. 

Quite close to the palace is the little stone church with its rectory, 
adjoining a picturesque old graveyard filled with ancient moss-cov 
ered memorials. Not far away in a secluded comer is a small burial 
ground for the royal animal pets with small carved stones perpetuat 
ing their memories. The little House of God shows all the affection 
ate care which the members of the Royal family rival one another in 


lavishing upon it. Next to the seat of the Princess in the royal pew 
is the Saint George statuette in silver dedicated to her departed eldest 
son, the Duke of Clarence. That little monument is an exquisite gem 
from the master hand of Alfred Gilbert. Every window in the church 
is a memorial in stained glass, rich in colors and delicate in design, con 
trasting markedly with the plainness and simplicity of the interior. 
A small organ, new, but with the richly carved old case, completed 
Sandringham's place of worship. 

The next day was Christmas. 

At the hour prearranged with the valet, he appeared with a tray of 
coffee or tea. He brought with him the clothes which he had taken 
the night before, carefully pressed and folded, and laid out what was 
needed. From nine until ten breakfast was served in the dining room. 
For this meal the Princesses never appeared. But all the gentlemen 
came down and, as in other English country houses, whoever arrived 
was served as soon as he sat down. Generally a member of the house 
hold was present to do the honors at the table. Both sideboards were 
loaded with silver platters warmed by spirit lamps, and under the 
covers, were the many items which constitute the English breakfast 
fish, eggs, fowl, bacon, porridge, sausages a vast variety. Upon the 
other sideboard were spread out the cold dishes, chiefly different kinds 
of meat, to which one helped oneself. A servant poured the tea and 
coffee and changed the plates until the fruits were served. No sooner 
was one place vacated than it was made ready for the next comer. 
These elaborate meals are probably a heritage of the days when the 
men were wont to go forth early to hunt or to shoot without pausing 
for lunch. 

After breakfast the entire party went to church. Everyone walked 
the short distance. The Princes sat in their pews, which flanked the 
aisle near the altar, the visitors, the household and the villagers taking 
the others. The service was brief. Unless the pulpit was occupied by 
visiting clergymen or some noted divine, the Prince always cut short 


the time of the sermon to about fifteen minutes. After church the 
party walked in the grounds, the Prince noting and commenting upon 
the many changes and alterations always going on. He took the op 
portunity of looking them over with his clerk of the works and to ex 
plain them to his entourage and guests. Here he lived simply the life 
of a country squire and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. 

When we returned to the house everyone spent the time in his own 
way writing, reading or conversing. The Prince attended to his 
correspondence with his secretary, until luncheon which was at two 
o'clock. There being no shooting on this day, the gentlemen were 
present at the midday meal. The Duke and Duchess of York and 
Prince and Princess Charles of Denmark also came in. The table ar 
rangements were as impressive as the night before. 

After lunch we were shown over the estate -all except the Princess, 
who was arranging the Christmas trees. Through the gardens and 
hothouses we went, then to the dairy, with its pedigreed Jersey live 
stock; but the chief attraction was the stables. As a special privilege 
we were allowed to see Persimmon, the famous horse that had won the 
Derby in 1896 and so many other races before and afterward. 

Persimmon was cared for in truly royal fashion. He had a sepa 
rate stable to himself, all lined and padded with leather. He had a 
particular stable boy to serve him whom he preferred to all others, and 
a little friend, a pony, which was always with him. He was a tempera 
mental animal, Persimmon. To make certain that he would enjoy 
his food, everything was done to keep him in good spirits, and the 
pony added for his well-being. The Prince took a great pride in show 
ing him off and in explaining all the details of his existence. He had 
the horse brought out, patted him affectionately, and showed us his 
racing record, engraved upon a shining bronze tablet outside his stall. 
It was a long list of equine achievements. Lord Marcus Beresford also 
came in for his share of recognition which he truly deserved, con 
sidering the difficulty of the task of breeding racehorses. 

Persimmon, however, seemed to care little for our admiration. 

> an drill gham, 

A Bridge Party at Sandringham 

With the Princess of Wales, Georgiana Lady Dudley, the Earl oj Cadogan, then Lord Lieutenant 
of Ireland, and the Duke of Devonshire 

The late Marquess of Salisbury 
Prime Minister of England 


He was carefully wrapped up in blankets and his legs were neatly 
bandaged. He became restless and, as there is always danger of a 
cold or a slip, it was deemed best to restore him to his quarters and to 
the company of his little friend, the pony. The visit to Persimmon 
was the culmination of our tour of inspection. Besides, dusk began to 
fall and, as dinner was to be earlier than usual in view of the Christ 
mas presents to be distributed afterward, we took the path that 
brought us back to the house most quickly. 

The dinner was, if anything, even more elaborate than the night 
before. Besides the Princes from the cottages, the rector, Canon 
Hervey, and his wife and daughter were invited. But in saying that 
the dinner was more elaborate, one must remember that this was not 
a household where the mistress put herself out to entertain distin 
guished guests. Here the hosts were the most distinguished of all 
present. And this fact seemed to guide the spirit of the household 
at all times. The silent question always seemed to be: "How can we 
best please our Royal Masters?" The devotion of everyone to the 
Prince and Princess was almost legendary. And the lead in that de 
votion was taken by the Princess herself. Her solicitude for the well- 
being and happiness of her consort was an outstanding fact. She 
seemed to subordinate not only her desires, her pleasures, her views, 
but her whole personality to that of the Prince. That atmosphere 
enveloped the entire life of the household an atmosphere of felicity, 
of peace and cheer. 

After the early dinner we all went into the big ballroom where 
the trees had been set up. This room was one of the latest additions 
to the house. The trees were arranged upon three tables under the 
vaulted ceiling and illtimined by seemingly thousands of candles. 
One of the tables was for the grown-up members of the family, an 
other for the children and a third for the household and the guests. 
Upon the tables were trees for each individual present; the largest was 
for the Prince of Wales and reached well to the ceiling. The others 
were in graduated sizes like the pipes of an organ, but still of imposing 


height. Then came the row for the household, smaller trees these, 
and upon a long table lay sorted the gifts for the children, each lot 
grouped under an individual tree, which was marked with the name 
of the recipient. 

No sooner did we enter the ballroom, than everyone rushed for 
ward, anxious to find his place. A wealth of presents lay stacked for 
each one. There were not only such costly things as jewellery, but all 
manner of lesser objects, decorative, useful or educative and ingenious. 
Next to a magnificent piece of Limoges porcelain from some crowned 
head would be a small bit of embroidery from some humble subject, or 
possibly a little poem or a drawing which a schoolgirl had ventured 
to offer. And these small objects brought as much pleasure and happi 
ness as the far costlier gifts from the great. Everyone was remem 
bered with lavish generosity. Everyone received something that 
bore a personal touch about it. Months before it was a matter of seri 
ous reflection and devising as to what to give in order to cause the 
most agreeable surprise. 

It need hardly be said that even under festive circumstances such 
as these, etiquette still surrounded the household. Inevitably, and 
regardless of all the goodwill of the hosts, guests and entourage would 
naturally still hang somewhat in the background. As the doors were 
opened the children, of course, were the first to rush forward toward 
that fairy Queen, and for the most of them their grandmother, 
Alexandra, Princess of Wales. The present Prince of Wales was at 
that time a child of perhaps five. His brothers and sisters were 
younger still. Little Louvima Knollys was then about ten. And there 
were a number of other children. It was enchanting to see all those 
youngsters as they surrounded the Princess standing at her table. 
Leaping joyously from one present to another, they shouted, ex 
claimed, compared gifts with one another and each kept pulling his 
grandmother or grandfather to his or her tree to show them how 
generously they had been treated. 

4 'How could Santa Claus have guessed that I wanted a Persimmon 


upon which to rock? " would cry a boy possibly the present Prince of 
Wales. And a little girl would exclaim, "And look at mine! How 
did he know that I wanted a doll called Alexandra, whom I could 
carry about?" 

Grown-ups received their gifts with less ostentation, perhaps, but 
with no smaller delight and pleasure. And even I, stranger though I 

King Edward VII. Bookplate at Sandringham 

was, found myself regally remembered. Beneath my tree lay several 
pieces of handsome jewellery, a blue Danish porcelain tea set upon a 
copper tray with a card from the hand of Princess Alexandra, and 
a silver ash tray especially engraved for the occasion and set with 
the medal I had made for the Prince my first commission for him. 

The next day there was festivity for the servants. The distribu 
tion of gifts to them was a ceremony that I did not witness. But there 
was a dance for them in the ballroom and every servant had the privi 
lege of asking for the honor of dancing with some member of the Royal 
family. There was nothing of the atmosphere of the Admirable 
Crichton discernible in this ceremony. The servants were all over- 


awed by the honor and there was a great display of shyness and em 
barrassment, much to the amusement of those present. 

The day after, when my visit came to an end, the Prince sent for me 
shortly before the hour of departure in order to go over some of the 
details of the monument I was making. The Princess also gave me an 
opportunity of expressing my thanks and gratitude for a hospitality 
which had been royal indeed. When I bowed adieu to Princess Vic 
toria she graciously handed me her album and asked me to leave a 
little sketch, which I can only hope was worthy of its environment, 


"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them." 


ADY RANDOLPH CHURCHILL'S habit of wearing 
about her neck my little medal with the portraits of 
her two sons created a sort of fashion which led to 
similar commissions on the part of many other people. 
One of these, Mrs. Leopold de Rothschild, desired me 
to make such a medal for her. Her husband was the youngest of 
the three brothers who headed the great banking house of that name 
in England. Mrs. Rothschild was not a Rothschild by birth, but a 
Perugia, a prominent family in Trieste. The Rothschilds were al 
ready beginning to frown upon a too close consanguinity, and 
Leopold's was one of the first marriages outside the family. 

Noted for her simplicity and unpretentiousness, this Mrs. Roths 
child was exceedingly popular. She disliked the atmosphere of glitter 
peculiar to many of the rich and inhabited a cottage at Ascot that was 
a model of homeliness. Much of the popularity of the Rothschilds in 
London was of this Mrs. Rothschild's making. For the eldest of the 
Rothschild brothers, Lord Rothschild, was noted for a curtness of 
manner that bordered upon rudeness. Of him, too, the story is told 
that when a certain distinguished stranger came to see him at his of 
fice, he invited him to take a seat and went on with his work. The 
stranger after waiting patiently for some time, arose and said, "Per 
haps you did not understand, but my name is so-and-so." 
11 Very well, take two seats," was the answer. 
Alfred, the second of the brothers, remained a bachelor all his life 



and collected works of art at a time when they were still easily ob 
tainable. Of the brothers/ he was perhaps the best liked, and he had 
the odd hobby of keeping a private band for his own entertainment, 
lending it generously for charitable purposes. Leopold, the youngest, 
was the sporting member of the family who maintained the Roths 
child colors upon the turf. 

Of his two younger boys, it was, that I was commissioned to make 
the medal. One of them, whether Anthony or Evelyn I do not re 
member, has since fallen in the war, in Mesopotamia, side by side 
with his cousin, Neil Primrose, second son of Lord Rosebery. 

Through these London Rothschilds I became acquainted with the 
Paris branch, where also three brothers reigned. The head of the 
French house was the Baron Alphonse. I was commissioned to make 
a portrait medallion of his only daughter, Madame Maurice Ephrussy 
with her youthful face and snow-white hair, a woman of striking 
appearance. This portrait had to be done in France, and accordingly, 
in the summer of 1900, 1 went back and forth across the channel. 

The country seat of these Rothschilds, Ferridres-sur-Marne, which 
they occupied the greater part of the year, was about an hour's dis 
tance from Paris. During the Franco-Prussian War, in 1870, it had 
served as the headquarters of the old Emperor William and his staff, 
including Moltke and Bismarck. The family still preserves and shows 
to guests the visitors' book which all these personages signed before 
leaving the chateau. This record impressed me less, however, than 
three things which have remained vividly in my memory in connec 
tion with the house. 

First, there was the famous painting by Raphael, known as The 
Violinist. This picture, formerly owned by Prince Sciarra, was by 
him smuggled out of Italy in spite of the strict laws which preclude 
the exportation of great works of art. And the reason the picture has 
lingered in my memory is because then and there my feeling was con 
firmed that Raphael's fame far exceeds his merit in comparison with 
his contemporary Michael Angelo. 


The second object I recall was a room hung with paintings on 
leather, which, although very vivid, were attributed to Rembrandt 
but in any case, extraordinary and unusual. The third, oddly enough, 
was the kitchen. That kitchen at Ferridres was a separate build 
ing, some distance from the main house. The dishes were conveyed 
to the house by means of a subterranean railway, with trains of 
heated cars to keep them warm. 

The old Baron Alphonse was possessed of one eye only. He had 
lost the other at a shooting party where a friend of his had made the 
unfortunate shot. As the specialist was operating in order to save the 
other eye, so the story goes, the Baron was heard to moan: 

" My God, what must my friend suffer!" 

Possibly the story is true. But so far as I knew the French, the 
English and the Austrian Rothschilds, they seemed rather concerned 
with themselves than with others. Their point of view toward life 
was blas6 rather than otherwise. Their lot was too easy and comfort 
able at birth and gave them too little to look forward to and thus bring 
out deep sympathy for others. The practice of close intermarriage 
between relations, often as near as first cousins, was also a detriment 
to the family. Its original purpose was to keep the fortune intact in 
the family. It proved harmful, however, and the practice has been 
since then largely abandoned. 

During one of my stays at Ferridres that summer, Count Witte, 
then Minister of Finance under the late Czar ;Nicholas II, was ar 
riving for a brief visit. That was an occasion for a display of wealth, 
such as even among the Rothschilds was not often indulged in. The 
Count was met at the station byjthe family with a carriage a la Dau- 
mont, drawn by six horses, two of which were mounted by riders. 
Like visiting royalty, he was shown over the estate, which was in 
every respect a model. 

Witte himself was of an imposing, if somewhat extraordinary, ap 
pearance. Though over six feet in height and large in proportion, he 
struck one by the unusual narrowness and length of his head. As to 


feature and beard he was the typical Slav. He spoke French flu 
ently, and his demeanor was that of a person always conscious of his 
exalted position. Though my place at the table was such that I 
could not overhear any of his conversation, I could not help observ 
ing an air of serene dignity about him, a trait I had noticed elsewhere, 
in Rome as well as in London, as peculiar to all Russian statesmen 
and diplomats. They seemed to assume it in order to show the world 
what a powerful master they were serving. 

The Baroness that evening was dressed in black silk and priceless 
lace and wore her black pearls which were famous. They were, in a 
manner, her Order of the Garter, worn only upon great and exceptional 
occasions. All the Rothschilds were present Baron Edouard, Gus- 
tave and their families. A state dinner at Windsor could not have 
been more formal. Witte took in the Baroness, and she smiled as 
much as she was able. This was one of the rare occasions when I saw 
her without her habitual expression of dissatisfaction that seemed al 
most a perpetual weariness. Such an expression appeared ineradica 
ble in those people owing to a satiety of all worldly things. 

There were forty-eight covers and the table offered the best that 
any kitchen or cellar could produce. At a certain point in the dinner, 
when the host was about to rise and propose the health of the guest of 
honor, the head butler poured out for everyone a glass of Bordeaux 
of their own vintage. This, evidently, was such a rarity that the 
servant showed the label to each and every guest. 

The attitude of the old Baron was very amusing. He was a suf 
ferer from gout, for the relief of which a certain diet had been pre 
scribed. In order to maintain his treatment scrupulously he was 
under the surveillance of a young physician, who would warn him 
when he was about to transgress the limitations of his regimen. When 
the priceless wine was served, however, the Baron lost patience with his 
young doctor. He threw him a defiant look and ' ' told him a thing or 
two" which evidently proved effective, for the doctor looked down at 
his plate and the Baron held out his glass to the dispensing butler. 

Ashley Memorial at Ramsey Cathedral 

" Once didst thou shine a morning star amongst the living. Now, no more, 
thou shinest an evening star among the dead." 

Prince Christian Fie for Memorial 

Erected at the Royal Chapel in Windsor 

Executed for Queen Victoria 


The old gentleman sipped his luscious liquor with such delight that I 
almost regretted my own palate was nothing more than a passageway 
to receive some of the necessities of our existence. I noticed that 
while he imbibed his nectar slowly as if to prolong the agreeable sen 
sation, others emptied their glasses in a few hasty swallows or in one 
large gulp much as we partake of the cup of life. Some greedy 
ones there are and short-sighted too, who dispose of the full contents 
rashly, indifferent as to the effects and natural consequences first 
satiety, perhaps indigestion, surely starvation when there is no more 
forthcoming. But the wise one will drink with deliberation, premedi 
tation even, and he will enjoy it the more for having comprehended 
the fact that, once emptied, the cup will never be refilled. 

On another of my visits the Baroness had arranged to have a small 
musicale. The performer was a Mrs. Rowland, an exceedingly ca 
pable violinist, the attractive wife of the American Commissioner to the 
Paris Exhibition of 1900. The time arrived for the music to begin but 
there was no accompanist for Mrs. Howland. Both the hostess and 
the performer had left that to the other. In her embarrassment the 
Baroness herself offered to accompany. She confessed that she had 
not touched a piano in many years and begged the indulgence of the 
guests. After the first few bars came a discord, and a stop. She tried 
afresh with the same result. The faces of both performers were grow 
ing purple and the situation was becoming painful. Someone sug 
gested a violin solo one of those bravura pieces by Bach or 
Paganini, where the violin itself supplies the accompaniment. This 
type of music appealed little to an audience that would have relished 
a valse. The Baroness rose in distress and asked; 

" Is there nobody in the room who can accompany Mrs. How- 
land? " No answer. ' ' Then/' she concluded sadly, ' ' we shall have to 
forego the pleasure of music tonight." 

When I felt certain that there was no Paderewski in disguise in the 
room, I ventured to offer my services at the piano. Beginning with my 
early days in Rome, I had played a good deal to the violin. There one 


of my neighbors, a certain Bernardelli, practiced with me every day. 
Several of the pieces remained in my memory and enabled us to im 
provise. And though my playing was not as perfect as might be 
wished, it had at least the charm of spontaneity; and it did count for 
something. For if ever in my life I have come near to being embraced 
by a woman, it was then and there. Mrs. Howland, who parted from 
her husband some time after, subsequently married Sir Edgar Speyer, 
London head of the international banking firm of Speyer Brothers. The 
Speyer house was a center of music in London. Even before his mar 
riage Sir Edgar had much music at his own home and started the popu 
lar concerts in Queen's Hall, which drew thousands every night. Lady 
Speyer had ample opportunity to display her many gifts, social as well 
as musical, though she never again played in public except for charity. 

During the War, Sir Edgar took offense at some veiled gossip and 
rumors which the universal spy-mania brought into being pardon 
able enough at a moment when the very existence of a nation was at 
stake. Even in those dark moments, however, no one high in the 
counsels of the State either reflected upon or assailed Sir Edgar. 
Nevertheless he was offended and chose to give up his baronetcy and 
to leave the country. In my humble opinion, he had done better to 
leave the matter alone until a happier and more serene period re 
turned. And if he be a true lover of England, which I believe he is, he 
might well have taken to heart the advice given by Edward Hanslick, 
the famous music critic, to his wife when she sang at a concert which 
he had to review. He said: 

"And now comes the most painful duty that can befall a critic, 
but 1 will make it short my dear wife; let me give you some advice: 
Love and be silent " 

Since those days at Ferri&res I have not seen Lady Speyer. Per 
haps she resented my attempt to help her out of an embarrassing 
situation and still holds it against me. I am only too conscious of 
what a poor performer I am and, should these lines come tinder her 
eye, I hope they will carry to her my humble apology. 


But the subject of music brings to my mind another notable 
musical home of those days, that of Lady Charles Beresford, wife of 
one of the most gallant and beloved of British admirals. Lord 
Charles was a popular national hero. When 1 knew him he had but 
recently returned from a mission to the far East on behalf of Sir 
Thomas Lipton, the object of which was to promote business rela 
tions between England and the East. But to remain in complete re 
tirement was impossible for Lord Charles and he was representing a 
constituency in Parliament. One could readily understand why he 
was an idol of the masses. A great-hearted simplicity distinguished 
his manner, and he was always cheerful and ready to do a good turn 
for anybody. A medal which Lady Charles commissioned me to make 
of him as a pendant for herself gave me ample opportunity to study 
this delightful man; he was a most agreeable sitter. Music, his wife's 
passion, did not appeal to him, and if he was present at her musicales 
it was only because some visitor there interested him at the time. 
His joviality and his amiability nevertheless remained unabated. Be 
cause he commanded H. M. S. Condor at Alexandria in 1882, and 
later, in 1884, th e naval brigade in the Soudan sent to the relief of 
General Gordon, he was sometimes popularly called "Condor 
Charlie" a name he did not like because of its rapacious connota 

Lady Charles Beresford kept open house at her charming villa in 
West Ham, near Richmond, and every Sunday during the season 
her many friends assembled there to an always elastic hospitality. 
There would be music and sometimes it was doubly enchanting to 
those who, after dinner j would stroll in the gardens and listen to the 
distant sounds in a perfect midsummer night. 

Art and music, it has often occurred to me, tend to supplement 
each other and to blend with and relieve one another like the cold 
and warm hues on, the palette of the painter. Or like the major and 
minor chords. In fact, creation was founded on this principle of posi 
tive and negative; it pervades everything, commencing with the 


colors in the rainbow, three of which are complementary and the 
other three opposing night and day, summer and winter, spring and 
autumn each needing its contrasting counterpart for the formation 
of a homogeneous entity, the structure of existence. 

The ancient Greeks understood these laws and called their applica 
tion the " golden rule/' by which they established relationships in ac 
cordance with their advanced ideals of perfection. Concerning the 
human body, the golden rule fixed all its proportions the relation of 
head to body, to the limbs, of hand and foot to arm and leg, of fingers 
and toes to hands and feet all painstakingly and comprehensively 

As these fundamental rules govern all the arts, this may be the 
explanation of why in one man is combined the ability to express him 
self in many media. To the artist, music is a necessity and, though he 
may not know its technique, he has a love for and an understanding 
of it. 

Sir Philip Burne- Jones often visited at West Ham, Sir Philip's 
father, the great Burne- Jones, believed his son to be a finer painter 
than himself, which shows how blinding paternal love can be. 

Another conspicuous figure at Lady Charles Beresford's was Sir 
Claude Phillips. His talent as a critic seemed to hover between art 
and music. He began as a musical reviewer and turned later to art 
criticism. He was a devoted friend of Lady Charles, and they were 
often seen at concerts and the opera together. He lived much among 
musical people. And I often wondered how it impossible for a critic 
to be in daily contact with the very people he is oblig'ed to judge 
and still to keep that aloofness which is necessary to make criticism 
completely unbiased. Yet Sir Claude seemed always popular, both 
as musical and art critic, and his work in the Daily Telegraph was held 
in far higher esteem than that of Mr. Humphrey Ward in the Times. 
So brilliant, ['trenchant and forceful was the pen of Sir Claude that 
he could make or unmake an artist "and stand a critic, hated yet 
caressed." The influence he wielded was powerful. And that brings 


me to a point. Shall we ever approach a time when we shall be able to 
do away with critics and rely wholly upon our own aesthetic feeling 
and judgment? Shall we always have to be told by someone who 
has no more qualification than anyone else, what in art is good and 
what is not? What is to endure and what shall perish? Often when 
I went to see some of the collections in Paris of a Sunday afternoon 
I would overhear the watchmen and guards in the museums or visi 
tors of the lower classes discussing art perhaps more intelligently 
than many a critic. With them this was a spontaneous expression 
of a feeling with which the whole country was imbued. With some, 
if not with all critics, it seems to be a process of filling just so much 
space with print because it is to be paid for. 

The community of art critics as a rule is recruited from among dis 
appointed artists, or art students, or from men who wield a too facile 
pen from which flow glittering phrases as empty as soap bubbles. 
Those in the first named class are the more dangerous because all their 
writings sound a note of disappointment, begrudging success to the 
fortunate ones, while every word serves but to stress the fact that 
" The greatest consolation for the mediocrity is that the genius is im 
mortal only after his death. " 

The art critic generally knows little about proportion, color, per 
spective or technique, all of which are as indispensable as a knowledge 
of counterpoint is to the musician, even though he be a genius. How 
many times have I been asked to explain the difference between the 
lost-wax process and the sand-mould casting and why the former 
should be considered art and the latter only craft. Over and over 
have I elucidated the meaning of chiaroscuro or the significance of the 
expression " cold and warm color," so extensively used among painters 
and which means so much. All of which and a thousand other de 
tails should have been taught to the art critic as a part of his curri 
culum in his preparation for a vocation which, if exercised in the 
proper spirit, could be as beneficial in its scope as the words spoken 
from the pulpit. 


Instead they are apt to live in their narrow world, not daring to 
look beyond its border lest the glare of light that might flood in upon 
their vision would completely inundate their obscure, dim comer. 
Usually each one is noted for the special tendency he champions, and 
so tenaciously does he do this that he is frequently unaware that a 
stronger and a cleverer man is stealing from tinder his nose the bone 
of contention, which leaves him with nothing to gnaw on and necessi 
tates a search for another bone. Few are broadminded enough to see 
the good where it is instead of where they wish to find it. 

The artist's resentment of the critics is comprehensible, for the 
harm of unintelligent criticism to an individual or a group cannot be 
measured. And so often the personal element enters in, the likes 
and dislikes of a critic for the personality and not the artist. Most 
of the masters have suffered like lions from the sting of annoying in 
sects. What did not Richard Wagner endure from the barks of a 
crowd who did not know how to make a better noise? And how 
virulent were the attacks on Whistler by Ruskin? When I first went 
to London, the famous lawsuit still resounded in every corner where 
art was discussed, and the opinions of Ruskin were so highly esteemed 
that the defenders of the painter were in the minority. Now that 
time has proved Whistler's worth, the question naturally arises: Did 
those attacks do him any real harm? Would it not have benefited 
Ruskin if he had seen fit to emphasize the good in Whistler, which 
was undeniably there? His undeserved harsh criticisms were about 
as valuable as if he had cut his name in the bark of a growing tree in 
the hope that posterity -might read it. Neither was Michael Angelo 
spared disparagement; it became so exasperating that he resorted 
to a ruse. At a place where archeologists were excavating, he buried 
one of his statues after first breaking off an arm. When the marble 
came to light and was exposed in all its beauty, they went for Angelo 
to point out to him how far more perfect was the work of the ancients 
in comparison to his own. He submitted to their sarcasm for a time, 
and then opening his cloak, he produced and fitted the missing arm. 


Some talent is so supreme a gift that to attempt to destroy it or to 
damn by faint praise would be like trying to avert an avalanche or 
swim in the rapids of Niagara. 

At the recent exhibition of Sargent's work in the Grand Central 
Art Galleries, the illustrated catalogue contained some reprinted 
opinions of former displays, eulogistic, of course. But there was one 
among them which contrasted sharply in its praise with the later 
writings from the same pen; continuous commendation had evidently 
proved irksome and had begun to pall hence an almost complete 
" right-about" by way of variety. 

A famous artist to whom recognition came late in life, upon meet 
ing one of his now enthusiastic critics said: 

( ' My friend, I almost believe that your praise does me more harm 
than your abuse has ever done me good." 

Lord Charles had two brothers, Lord William and Lord Marcus 
Beresford, keeper of the Prince's racing stable. Lord William was 
married to Lillian, Duchess of Marlborough. An American by birth, 
daughter of Commodore Price, IL S. N., she had first married Louis 
Hammersley, a New Yorker, and after his death the Duke of Marl- 
borough, father of the present Duke. Louis Hammersley had left her 
a respectable fortune and with this, after she became the Duchess, 
she embarked upon elaborate improvements at Blenheim. These 
were later carried on by Consuelo Vanderbilt, the next Duchess. 
When the old Duke died, his widow married Lord William Beresford. 
But still she clung to the title of Duchess which presumably had cost 
her too much to be lightly relinquished. Her marriage to Beresford 
proved a happy and congenial one and their union was even blessed 
with a somewhat belated son. 

One day I received an urgent message from Lord Marcus, whom I 
had met at Sandringhana, bidding me come to Deepdene near Dork 
ing to make for the Duchess a death mask of his brother, Lord Wil 
liam, who had just died. The telegram came too late in the day for 
me to avail myself of the aid of a moulder and, as I did not wish to 


disappoint Lord Marcus, I decided to do the work myself. It was a 
dreary journey from Charing Cross in an empty train past midnight. 
When I arrived at Deepdene Lord Marcus and the nurse in attend 
ance were waiting up for me. The Duchess I did not see. I pro 
ceeded with my melancholy task. 

The making of a death mask is no pleasant labor. First of all the 
face is lightly coated with olive oil. IB the case of a man the brows, 
the moustache and beard are covered either with the skin of egg or 
with grease generously applied. A frame of soft clay is then laid 
round the head to mark the limits of the cast and to prevent the soft 
plaster from flowing out. The plaster has to be mixed with warm 
water and a little salt to make it set more quickly. In liquid form it is 
then applied with a brush and, as it gets harder, with the hand until 
the whole cools down and solidifies. To remove the mould it is simply 
moistened with a saturated sponge. "This form the moulder after 
wards uses for making the cast. All this I was obliged to do myself, 
with the help of only the nurse. 

Once the task was done, I went upstairs to gain a little rest. To 
the stranger the house seemed enormous. It was early winter and 
outside I heard the wind soughing and moaning. So cold and life 
less was everything within and without that I could not sleep. I 
longed for my cozy studio and the little cheerful fire that awaited 
me like an old friend. Early in the morning, at the first opportun 
ity, I fled. 

Yet, in spite of all this, in spite of my desire not to disappoint the 
Duchess, her feeling and tenderness for her departed husband must 
have evaporated rapidly for I did not hear from her. I wrote her once 
or twice to say that the death mask was ready, but my letters re 
mained unanswered. It was not until some time later, when I was 
doing some work for Sir George Lewis, the noted solicitor, a man sym 
pathetic to artists, that I happened to mention among others of my 
experiences, the one with the Duchess. He desired to know all the 
particulars. Sir George was the solicitor of the Duchess and had the 

The Duke of Roxburgh 

(From an Etching) 

Lord Ealfour 

The Late Lord Londonderry 
Postmaster General 

Prince George of Greece 


Edoardo de Martino 

Reuben D. Sassoon 
Dowager Lady Londonderry 


management of her affairs. Soon thereafter I finally received from 
her an apologetic letter with a check. 

Sir George Lewis, I may add, was perhaps one of the most eminent 
solicitors in his day. His advice was universally sought and the most 
important and delicate cases were likely to be found in his hands. 
To have him on one's side was already in some degree an assurance of 
success. His principle was never to advise a lawsuit unless he was 
reasonably sure of the justice of the cause and the probable result. 
The money-lenders act, which was directed chiefly against his name 
sake, Sam Lewis, and intended to preclude the possibility of such vast 
accumulations of wealth in that business, was drafted by Sir George 
Lewis. The foremost contemporary names of his time, including that 
of the Prince of Wales, figured among his clients. His offices in Ely 
Place occupied two houses, which had been thrown into one. 

His wife, Lady Lewis, of German origin, was a great lover of art 
in all its forms. She was among the first of Sargent's patrons. In his 
early days, before he became famous, he painted the portrait of both 
Sir George and Lady Lewis. An entire wall in their house in Portland 
Place was covered with cartoons by Burne- Jones. Sir George Framp- 
ton, the sculptor, modeled the ceiling of her drawing-room. Pade- 
rewski and Alnaa-Tadema were intimates and often to be met in the 
Lewis house. Paderewski never came to London without devoting at 
least one evening to his friends, the Lewises, who made this the occa 
sion for a big dinner and reception, which strained to its utmost the 
capacity of even their large house. 

At about this time Philip Ldszl6 first made his appearance in Eng 
land. Though a Hungarian, he had studied at the Academy in 
Munich and set up as a portrait painter. He had an extraordinary 
facility for likenesses and his first portraits, still painted under the in 
fluence of the Academy, gave excellent promise. His ease was amaz 
ing. It was the sort of ease which is far more general among the 
Italians and the Spaniards. Sorolla once told me that whenever one 
of his pupils shows signs of it, he sets him to copying Holbein until 


he copies him well. Lszl6 was able to handle not only the brush 
with facility, but also his sitters. He knew how to keep in the public 
eye, and like a clever musician who is sometimes able to play himself 
into the hearts of people, so Ldszl6 had the art of painting himself into 
their hearts. To my own critical judgment his work is over-facile. 
He has never had the impulse, seemingly, to retire from his endless 
portrait painting into a seclusion where he might listen undisturbed 
to that still, small voice, which every true artist should hear and make 
him long for the day when he will be able to follow its call. 

I cannot remember any other instance of a celebrated portrait 
painter, such as Lszl6 gave promise of becoming, contenting himself 
with turning out faces day after day with a facility which in time 
must surely become mechanical. 

Lszl6 first came to me with an introduction from Count Mens- 
dorff, then the councillor of the Austrian embassy in London. I 
was asked to help him obtain a studio for a short period so that he 
could paint a score of portraits or so. As I then had, besides my own 
studio, another one near by, I welcomed him as my guest. I saw 
much of him at that time, and we often had discussions upon art. 
One afternoon, when his sittings were over for the day, I visited him 
and observed the pile of canvases in all stages of progress which he 
had already accumulated in a short time in London, 

II Don't you feel," I asked him, "like so many of us, that por 
traiture is only a means to an end but after all it does not repre 
sent the very best which is in an artist? " He seemed inclined to agree 
with me. 

"After all/' I went on, "in looking at the work of our foremost 
portrait painters, Velasquez, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Van Dyck 
and Rembrandt, giants in portraiture to be sure, they revealed the 
true master rather in their compositions. Don't you agree with 
me?' 1 

Yes, ' ' was his answer. ' ' I grant you that is true. And as soon as 
I feel a little more independent I mean to return to my studio in 


Budapest and begin on some work which I have in mind. I see a 
splendid decorative frieze which I am anxious to do." 

11 That is fine," I told him, " and I am glad to hear you say it. Be 
cause in my experience, true happiness for an artist lies only in those 
works which he can create in the privacy of his studio, uninfluenced 
by any consideration other than art in its purest form." 

That was a quarter of a century ago, but I have not yet heard of 
that frieze of Laszl6's. I sometimes wonder whether, as he looks back 
upon his achievements, he does not regret that he has remained so 
one-sided in the practice of his art. 

L&szl6, 1 need hardly say, painted the portrait of Count Mensdorff 
as he painted the portrait of every other celebrity. Count Mensdorff 
was an excellent specimen of the diplomacy of his time. The prime 
requisite of that diplomacy was not so much a fine mind as a strong 
digestion. Almost all diplomats were in those days alike. Very few 
stood out for exceptional ability. Baron Trauttenberg, an adherent to 
the old school, one day wrote in an album: 

"The duty of diplomacy lies less in the achievement of great suc 
cesses than in the avoidance of great difficulties/' 

That was the working principle of pre-war diplomacy. And it 
was by no means confined to the Austrian embassy, but prevailed 
in all the embassies I ever knew. For the statesmen of that era this 
was doubtless a sufficiently satisfactory motto. 

Count Mensdorff came of a noble family so ancient that it even 
managed somewhere in its path to pick up a connection with royalty. 
The house of Leiningen, to which he was related, had at some time be 
come linked with the house of Coburg. Mensdorff was therefore con 
sidered a relation of the British royal family, and was not only persona 
grata but a favorite. No dinner party, reception or house party was 
deemed complete without him. He was everywhere welcome, at 
Cowes, at Newmarket, at Chatsworth, at Sandringham and Windsor. 
When Count Deym, his chief, died, Mensdorff was elevated over 
many heads and made ambassador to the Court of St. James's. With 



so popular a man, it was thought, the cordial relations between the 
two empires could not help but be maintained. When the War was 
approaching it became evident that the situation demanded some 
one as adroit in diplomacy as Mensdorff was socially. With that type 
of man in London and such a diplomat as Austria now possesses in 
Monsignore Seipel, the priest-statesman, the destinies of the world 
might perhaps have moved otherwise. The Mensdorff type had 
doubtless been a great asset in the days when the fates of empires were 
settled by a chosen few over the coffee and cigars after a good dinner. 
But these times had passed and they have, no doubt, passed forever. 
Today we live in a world where merit alone is of any account, where 
the humblest has the same opportunity as the highest born, where in 
dividuals can no longer decree the fate of whole nations, but humanity 
settles such things for itself. 
And thank Heaven for that. 


" They are happy men whose natures sort with their vocations." (Bacon.) 

tN the spring of 1900 word came to me from Windsor 
that Queen* Victoria had expressed the desire to see 
some of my work and that I was to bring it to the 
castle upon a certain date. I was to include the 
marble bust of Lady Alice Montagu and the statuette 
of Lord Wolseley , both exhibited at the Academy the preceding year, 
and also a few of my medals. One day in March I took a train for 
Windsor. The selection of my work I had already despatched the 
day before. 

When I arrived I was shown into the office of Herrn Muther, the 
Queen's German private secretary. He introduced me* to Lord 
Edward Pelham Clinton, the Master of the Household, who assigned 
servants to help me set out my work where I thought it could be 
shown to the best advantage. A little salon adjoining the Queen's 
apartment was selected, a small room on the first floor overlooking 
the park. The room was finished in rosewood, with dainty medallions 
in Sevres Biscuit. The light color of the woodwork, as I remember it, 
blended agreeably with the vivid color of the porcelain and produced 
a harmonious effect. Some of the carved wooden ornaments, careful 
as to workmanship, were faintly gilded. The windows were high and 
the portidres and curtains were of thick green damask. Like most of 
the furniture in Windsor Castle this was ponderous and in keeping 
with the heavy draperies. An Aubusson carpet covered the floor. As 
soon as the word was given that the sculptures were ready to be in 
spected, the Queen came into the room, accompanied by Princess 



Beatrice. Both she and the Princess, her youngest daughter, were 
dressed in simple black, with a touch of white batiste at neck and 
sleeves. The Queen wore a ruffled cap of white mousseline, and upon 
her left arm was a large, plain, gold bracelet which contained a medal 
lion. She walked with a stick, leaning upon the arm. of the moonshee f 
her Indian body servant, who always accompanied her. Princess 
Beatrice, who since the death of her husband, Prince Henry of Batten- 
berg, lived with the Queen and was her inseparable companion, fol 
lowed her mother into the room. 

The Queen greeted me with a good-morning in a gentle, agreeable 
voice, and though she spoke in fluent German, her accent was dis 
tinctly English. 

"We are glad to see your sculptures," she said. "The Prince of 
Wales has spoken to us about your work." She gazed at the bust of 
Lady Alice Montagu. 

"She was such a sweet and beautiful girl. Did you require many 
sittings? " 

"It did not take so many sittings, Madam," I told her, "consider 
ing that the bust had to travel about a good deal. 1 ' And I related how 
the work was begun at Kimbolton and how I had to pack it up again 
and continue it in London and then finally to do it in marble in 
Rome and put finishing touches upon it in my London studio. This 
evidently both interested and amused her. There were many things 
she wanted to know. How good a sitter had Lady Alice been? How 
had I managed about the marble, and did I cut it myself? Then she 
turned to Lord Wolseley's statuette. 

"Dear Lord Wolseley," she exclaimed. "Don't you think you 
made him look rather older?" And turning to the Princess Beatrice, 
"What do you think, Beatrice?" 

"It seems so to me, too/' replied the Princess. 

I ventured to explain, when the Queen addressed me again, that 
possibly the color of the silver with its dark shades in the depths might 
have accentuated the heavy lines. 


These two pieces interested her especially. Lady Alice had been 
her godchild and the Queen was very fond of her. Of Lord Wolseley 
she always thought highly and when the General, notwithstanding the 
grant from Parliament, found himself one day in a financial strin 
gency, the Queen assigned him an apartment in the Hampton Court 
Palace, rent free, during his and Lady Wolseley's lifetime. 

Some of my medals she had evidently seen before, because she 
recognized a few of them. But she mentioned particularly the one I 
had designed to commemorate the termination of the South African 
War. Upon the obverse side is a fallen soldier, dying on the battle 
field and still pressing the flag to his heart. An angel of victory is 
bending over him. Upon the reverse is the figure of Bellona, the God 
dess of War, sheathing her sword. In the distance troops are em 
barking. The legend runs: "To the memory of those who gave their 
lives for Queen and country. " 

That medal seemed to appeal to her most, and it was to it, doubt 
less, that I owed this, my first visit to Windsor. 

The Queen finally spoke as she examined it. "The sentiment 
which you have put into the medal moves us deeply/' Subse 
quently she had many replicas of it struck for herself, her family and 

She bowed slightly and I knew that the audience was at an end. I 
also bowed deeply, and backed out of the room toward the door as the 
etiquette prescribed. In Herrn Muther's room, whither I returned, a 
message from the Princess Beatrice was already awaiting me to the 
effect that the Queen wished me to leave the sculptures where they 
were for the present because she desired to look at them again after 
lunch. In later years, when I chanced to be speaking to friends of 
some of the recollections of this phase of my life, they would often 
press me to give them my impressions of the Queen. I was bound to 
say that, though there was nothing in Queen Victoria's demeanor to 
indicate her august position, and though her voice was gentle and 
sympathetic, one could not but feel the majesty of her personality and 


that there was a gulf which separated her from the rest of the world. 
Call it a gulf or barrier, whatever it was, it certainly created an awe, 
which even those who saw her often could no more overcome than 
could those who beheld her for the first time. 

I was invited to lunch with the household. The life at Windsor 
was very formal more formal than anywhere else. There was even 
a Windsor uniform which the gentlemen of the court were obliged to 
wear for special functions. The Queen always lunched with her 
family alone. All guests, with the exception of a visiting prince or an 
ambassador, lunched with the household. The household's dining 
room was a huge apartment in beige color, almost as plain as a mess- 
room, with a few large engravings on the walls. The servants were in 
scarlet livery, headed by two Gentlemen Butlers in black. Their at 
tention was as strict and disciplined as at the royal table. The menu 
was substantially the same. 

At a certain hour the Master of the Household, Lord Edward Pel- 
ham Clinton, came in, greeted the guests and introduced the ladies 
and gentlemen in waiting. Among these was Lord Howe, the Queen's 
Lord-in-waiting, and several maids of honor. About thirty of us sat 
down at the table. He invited with a gesture of the hand the one who 
was to be placed next to him a doubtful pleasure, for he was ex 
ceptionally dry and solemn. I never saw him laugh or smile even once. 
He appeared deeply conscious of the responsibilities of his position and 
had evidently concluded that aloofness promoted respect. Fortu 
nately, one of the maids of honor, an agreeable young woman, 
chanced to sit upon my right and I had a delightful time. We found 
many things to talk about. There was no sense of hurry at the table 
because those members of the household who were in attendance 
upon the Queen could join us only after their services were dispensed 
with by their Royal mistress. 

Presently, as we sat there, Heinrich von Angeli joined the party. 
After Winterhalter he was the Queen's favorite painter* Though his 
home was in Vienna, where he taught at the Imperial Academy, he 


was often summoned to England to work for Queen Victoria. He 
painted more portraits of her than any other artist. He was also con 
stantly painting her family and members of the court. Upon this 
occasion he was starting a portrait for which the Queen had just given 
him a sitting. Because of his jovial temperament and the position he 
occupied, he could afford to disregard somewhat the stringent formal 
ity of that dining room and our party suddenly brightened into life. 
We all became cheerful, not to say gay. 

As to his work, it was doubtless sound in drawing and good in 
color. But it was not great. The artist himself was conscious of his 
limitations, for he endeavored to make up by assiduous labor what 
genius had denied him. His industry was tremendous. His portraits 
were distributed broadcast throughout Europe. Every palace held a 
few of them and Windsor many. Now that time begins to cast its 
charitable veil, these works will without doubt find their appropriate 

Luncheon was scarcely over, when I was again summoned to the 
presence of the Queen. With some purpose in mind, she asked a num 
ber of further questions and details regarding the work. For instance, 
she desired to know more about Lady Alice's portrait. To whom did 
it belong now? Did I think I could obtain permission to make a copy 
of it, and how long would it take to make one? 

I replied that if the Queen desired a replica of the bust, such a de 
sire would doubtless be a flattering command to the Duchess of Man 
chester, who owned it, and certainly to myself. As I still possessed 
the original model in plaster, a copy could be made without any in 
convenience to the owner. This copy I subsequently did make and it 
was delivered during the autumn of that year when the Queen re 
turned from Balmoral. She kept it always in her own room, and 
when King Edward ascended the throne, he had it brought from 
Windsor and placed in his study at Buckingham Palace, with careful 
attention to the lighting which, in sculpture, is a factor of such 


Aside from the copy of the Montagu bust, the Queen had another 
idea. " It would be of interest to us/' she said, "if you would design 
a medal by which to commemorate our reign into the new century. 
Will you give this work your consideration? " 

" Madam," I answered, "it will be my most earnest endeavor to 
produce something which will find favor in your Majesty's eyes. May 
I be permitted to submit that if your Majesty would consent to give 
me a few sittings, and afford me the chance of getting my likeness 
from life, it would greatly improve the work as a whole?" 

"We will gladly do that/' she replied. She told me how she de 
sired to be represented, with the crown over the veil as she was wont 
to wear them on particular and state occasions. Should she be 
pleased with the likeness, she might wish to order a more intimate 
portrait, one with her every-day head-dress, upon a medal for her 
immediate family. And as if this was not more than enough for a 
beginning, she also ordered a portrait in relief of her daughter and 

That day I felt like walking in the woods to inhale the balmy 
ozone which saturated the air* Spring in the world and spring in my 
heart ! How happy would my poor parents have been ! What would 
I not have given had it been possible to relieve them of the anxieties 
they so often felt for their boy's future ! 

The first of the two medals, the commemorative one, seemed to 
preoccupy the Queen most. She was anxious to see the designs for 
the reverse, and indeed, that was something that demanded careful 
consideration. On many medals the reverse is simply an inscription, 
with possibly a laurel wreath, and sometimes with a coat-of-arms. 
Perhaps it is uncharitable to say that often these are merely evi 
dence of a lack of imagination upon the part of the designer. That, 
combined with the difficulties of execution in low relief, drives the 
artist to slur a splendid opportunity rather than to strain his artistic 
resources. I decided upon an angel carrying the name of the Queen 
around the world. I have always derived zest from difficulties and, I 


may say, even sought them. Here they were plentiful without the 
seeking. The figure of the angel was conceived in full face, because 
the fine distribution of lines and masses would thus add to the 
grandeur and majesty. This itself presented an intricate problem in 
sculpture. It was rather, if I may so say, a painting in light and shade. 
Indeed, all my excursions into the sister arts during my years of 
study in Berlin and Rome, stood me in good stead in this enterprise. 
The angel, it occurred to me, instead of showing a tablet with the 
Queen's name inscribed, should bear her autograph as she signed 
it herself: Victoria R. I. This, I thought, would add to the impor 
tance of the picture and give it a needed touch of personality. To 
this she agreed and gave me some autographed signatures so that I 
might the better be able to study the characteristics of her calligraphy . 

She also promised the necessary further sittings upon her return to 

At these subsequent sittings the atmosphere was measurably differ 
ent. The Queen had already overcome a certain aversion she had 
for new faces and new people, a peculiarity of her later years. But I 
was no longer a stranger to her. Besides, the whole conception of the 
medal as designed seemed to appeal to her and she showed it by the 
graciousness with which she received me. She was wheeled in in a 
chair by the moonshee, accompanied as always by the Princess 
Beatrice. She was very anxious that the pose should be correct and 
now and then she would inquire: 

11 Is this right so?" 

At one of the sittings after she had seen the designs and noted the 
progress of the medal, she observed: 

41 We approve of the design of the medal. Could you use the same 
portrait and change the head-dress for the cap?" 


" Yes, Madam/' I said. " This is easily done/' 

I still possess a letter from Muther, in which the Queen bade me 
come to Windsor so that I could make the necessary studies from her 
veil and crown placed at my disposal. 

Her conversation during the sittings she addressed entirely to her 
daughter, so as to enable the artist to give his undivided attention to 
his work. At a certain point in time she would make a sign with her 
head, which indicated that the sitting was at an end. The moonshee 
would wheel her out in her chair, and then the Princess Beatrice 
would take her own turn at posing. 

Since these medals seemed to interest the Queen so much, I am 
happy to think that she lived to see them completed. In August I 
sent the large models in plaster for her inspection at Osborne before I 
actually had the dies cut. In due course the medals were delivered, 
and on December eleventh, next, came a note from Windsor which 
read as follows: 


I have just received your four medals which I duly submitted to the 
august ladies. They are greatly pleased, not only with the execution, but 
also with the prompt fulfillment of their orders. Will you kindly hold your 
self at tlie command of Her Majesty on Saturday next between eleven and 
twelve, since she desires to place another commission with you, 

The object in question, so far as I was able to ascertain, is an allegor 
ical figure. (I cannot be sure whether a statue or a medal is meant.) It 
concerns the unfortunate Prince Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holstein. I 
offer you these suggestions in the greatest haste, in case they might interest 
you. Shall expect you at eleven o'clock Saturday next, December fif 
teenth. Otherwise, please wire. 




As the above signature indicates, the Queen had parted with her 
German secretary, Muther, who had served her for over thirty years. 
The ostensible cause for his resignation was that he felt, so he put it, 
he could no longer serve her Majesty in the manner he desired. 
There was however, I have reason to suspect, a little rivalry, if not 
jealousy, between himself and the Indian moonshee. 

Upon the occasion of her Diamond Jubilee, the Queen instituted 
a new decoration, called the Royal Victorian Order. This she con 
ferred in recognition of services other than political or military. The 
order had five classes, the first of which was assigned to her own 
family and immediate entourage. When Muther discovered that he 
and the Indian moonshee received an order of the same class, he con 
cluded that no distinction was made between a servant and himself. 
That wounded his sensibilities. The Queen accepted his resignation 
in a most touching autograph letter, considered the highest honor she 
could pay anyone. He returned to his Bavarian mountains, but 
knowing him as I did, I feel sure that his thoughts frequently turned 
to the scene of his former activities across the Channel and that he 
often wished he were still there. 





"All is concentr'd in a life intense." (Byron.) 

[ EGINNING with my early days at the Royal Academy 
of Fine Arts in Berlin, I had been in the habit of 
spending all my free evenings in drawing from the 
figure. The more progress I made, the more I ap 
preciated the necessity of it. It is much like the daily 
exercises which the performing musician has to do in order to keep his 
fingers supple. For an artist there is always plenty of opportunity for 
the practice of figure drawing. In Berlin there was an evening class 
at the Academy which the various teachers took turns in visiting and 
criticizing. In Rome we students had the Circolo Artistico Itallaxio 
in the Via Margutta. This was a social club in, some respects, but 
primarily it was formed to further the study of the figure for those 
who either could not afford a model or did not wish to waste valua 
ble daylight for studies that could just as well be done at night. 

What made the class in Rome both important and instructive, 
was the fact that Mancini, the great Antonio Mancini, came there al 
most nightly, surrounded by a throng of admirers who watched with 
the keenest interest every stroke he made upon his paper. Sargent 
has justly said that Mancini is the unrivaled living colorist. And 
how sincere Sargent was in this statement is proved by the number of 
Mancini's studies which he possesses and by the admirable sketch he 
himself has made of the peerless Italian. To see Maacini work was 
not only instructive, but amusing as well. He had a wooden frame 
fixed before him with squares of thread through which he looked at 


the model. His drawing paper was likewise covered with propor 
tionate squares, and thus he was able to do his drawing easily and 
correctly in the masses. The only objection to this plan was that the 
slightest movement of the model interfered with the picture and was 
greeted with a shower of Mancini's oaths and invectives, in which 
the Italian language is perhaps the richest and most copious of all 

After settling in London, I sought out a similar class and it proved 
to be quite near my studio. It was the Langham Artists' Society 
for the study of the figure and costume, at Langham Chambers, off 
Portland Place. Many of the forty immortals who constitute the 
Royal Academy have at one time or another belonged to that society 
which can boast over a century of existence. 

There, in my time, I met a number of well-known artists. Per 
haps the most gifted among them, and the most highly thought of, 
was William A. Brakespeare, a painter of great delicacy. His early 
education was obtained under Lef ebvre, in Paris. He was an excellent 
colorist and, had he not been exceptionally shy and modest, he could 
have easily found his way into the Royal Academy. To my surprise, he 
always worked at the Langham in color. This was new to me. I had 
not known that with sources of light so different as the sun and the 
gas-jet, results equally happy might be obtained. Brakespeare, 
however, explained to me that so long as the light upon the canvas 
and the model was the same, with a careful handling of the warm 
colors, and especially the yellow, one could paint as well by artificial 
as by daylight. 

This fascinated me and brought me a new point of view as well as 
a new incentive. Since my stay in Rome I had looked forward to the 
day when I might perfect myself in color work. Here was my chance, 
and with an excellent teacher. I began to work night after night, but 
soon I felt the desire of experimenting by daylight too. I even gave up 
my Sundays to it. I realized that not only did this practice help me 
in sculpture, tending to make me see objects in a manner more soft 


and mellow, but that it was in itself an occupation full of charm and 
thrills. My knowledge of drawing enabled me to devote all my atten 
tion to the subject of color. 

It became doubly interesting to me to watch Lszl6, who was 
then painting in one of my studios. But what I saw him doing was so 
at variance with what I was accustomed to see in the work of those 
whose talent I admired, that one day I took my courage in both hands, 
went to see Sargent and asked him timidly if he would allow me to 
make a few studies at his studio and under his eye. It must have 
been only the kindness of his great heart that made him acquiesce. 
For I myself realized the inconvenience which my presence was 
bound to cause him. He was just then painting the first of the mural 
decorations for the Boston Public Library the one with the magnifi 
cent group of the Trinity in the center standing out so forcefully in 
bas-relief. This alone shows what a sculptor he would have made. I 
suggested that if I began at say 5 ;30, 1 should be leaving at about 10, 
which would give him the least possible inconvenience. Several times 
he came around at a very early hour to see how I progressed. 

He never said much, but what he did say, one might do well to en 
grave upon the tablets of one's mind. One of the great man's teach 
ings was the dominant importance of values over color. 

"Color," he said, "is an, inborn gift, but appreciation of value is 
merely a training of the eye which everyone ought to be able to ac 

Value in art, as everyone knows, simply means the relation 
of light to shade. Sargent referred to this idea over and over, and 
it occurred to me that perhaps he meant value not in pictures alone, 
but fundamentally in all the realms of life. His work demonstrates 
his ingrained belief in this. I can think of nobody who can see and 
render values with such delicate distinction as does Sargent. 

His palette was to me a marvel. His enormous wealth of color he 
produces with a few simple hues, mostly earth colors white, yel 
low ocher, light red or vermilion, burnt sienna, cobalt blue, emerald 

The late Marquis de Soveral 

Portuguese Minister at the Court of St. James and 
One of the Intitnes at the Court of Edward VII 

Lindky M. Garrison 

Painted for the War Department 


green and black. His is a rare skill in using and combining them. 
Some mornings lie would come in and, without saying much, would 
help me in painting a difficult passage from the model. While the 
direct way of painting appealed to him, he fully appreciated the more 
subtle methods, especially that of grisailles and glazing, by which 
many masters obtain their effects of brilliancy. This method, per 
haps I should add, consists in painting first in black and white, and 
then laying on a thin film of transparent color. 

Sargent's veneration for the work of the old masters was pro 
found. But Velasquez and Franz Hals were the gods of his Pantheon. 
He copied both freely. Of Velasquez he had in his studio a facsimile 
of the dwarf Don Antonio el Ingles, and of Franz Hals several groups 
from his large pictures at Haarlem copied by himself. If my recol 
lections of our discussions about artists are correct, Van Dyck seemed 
to appeal to him the least. 

About technique it was always difficult to make him express him 
self in words. Rather than explain a serious problem, he would take 
a brush and paint that piece and the difficulties would vanish under 
his touch. When I worked at his studio he offered me the free use of 
his colors and even his palette and brushes which lay about in pro 
fusion. Few artists can bring themselves to lend these objects without 
feeling it to be sacrilege. 

So dominant is Sargent's personality in art, that it was bound to 
be reflected in the work of his friends. Young Brough, Von Glehn 
and Harris Brown, who were seeing him constantly, all showed to 
some extent the Sargent influence in their paintings. How uncon 
scious this is in some cases was shown in an exhibition of portraits 
painted by Harris Brown during the last few years in America and in 
Canada. These are markedly different from earlier canvases painted 
in Sargent's neighborhood. The freedom of these earlier pictures 
is replaced by tightness and smoothness, not to say timidity. I re 
call an Academy picture of his of some time back, the portrait of a 
Scottish peer in his robes standing beside a horse, with its head 


down. So fresh and boldly was that picture painted that at a dis 
tance it might easily have been taken for a work of the Master. 

With the coming of the warm weather, when Sargent was about to 
leave London, he advised me to go to Haarlem and copy Franz Hals. 
It was so I took my vacation that year, and I shall always be grateful 
to him for that suggestion, as for so much else that he did for me. 
When I returned from Holland he came to my studio to criticize the 
copies I had made. On the whole, I remember, these were as timid 
as they ought to have been bold. He criticized them and some other 
essays of mine in color also, and all with that indulgence and under 
standing, which wholly overcame the hesitation and shyness one 
experiences in showing one's daubs to a master. 

So Sargent was really the most important guide I had in my ex 
cursions into the realm of color, and I am proud of it. 

I have not seen him in many years. The fault is mine. I shotdd 
never have allowed any lapse of time to come between myself and the 
man who to me looms so great as to be virtually a school in himself, 
who showed me his good will in such a generous way; but with that 
sensitiveness which is often peculiar to artists and which the French 
man expresses so accurately in the phrase : Vous cherchez toujours la 
Mte noir always looking for trouble I had at some time in the past 
the feeling that he had something against me, and kept away from 
him. But I would never willingly or knowingly have done anything 
to offend or hurt him. 

Many years have passed. We are both approaching the summit of 
that mountain from which one cannot help wondering about the valley 
beyond. That thought brings humility. I only hope that the in 
cident is nothing but a shadow thrown by my own imagination. 

Medal which Napoleon left 
to his Generals after 

his death 
May 5, 1821 


"There is a tide in the affairs of men 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." (Shakespeare.) 

jHE birthday of the Prince of Wales was the ninth of 
November. It was the occasion for a gathering of 
the family and friends, for a succession of visits and 
for the beginning of the shooting over his preserves. 
At that time of the year the Prince also gave close 
attention to improvements, alterations and additions upon his estate. 
On October thirtieth, 1900, the following note came to me from 
Marlborough House: 


I am desired by the Prince of Wales to invite you to Sandringham on 
next Saturday. Will you travel down by the train leaving St. Pancras 
Station at 2:35, arriving at Wolferton Station at 5:49, where a carriage 
will be waiting for you. 
Believe me, 

Yours sincerely, 


Equerry in Waiting. 

Captain Holford, one of the four equerries, was the handsomest 
man in the Prince's entourage. His prematurely white hair gave him 
an air of distinction, and in addition to that, he was the owner of Dor 
chester House, one of the finest houses in London. Those Amer 
icans who visited it when Mr. Whitelaw Reid, as American ambas- 
.sador, occupied it, will remember the innumerable art treasures 


with which that house in Park Lane was stocked. Captain Hoi- 
ford, though then a bachelor, often gave magnificent parties before 
he let it, and the Prince was not infrequently a visitor. 

For two reasons I was asked to Sandringham House at this 
time. First, the Prince desired to go with me over the work upon 
the memorial of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and to rearrange it in the 
church. And then, the Princess herself was to give me some 
sittings. Recently, one of the newspapers, commenting upon her 
zealous work in the cause of charity had referred to Princess Alex 
andra as the "Princess of Pity." This phrase had been brought to 
her attention and the sentiment of it appealed to her. She had the 
idea of using it as the theme for the reverse of a plaque which she 
wished me to make for her and for which she was to give me the 
initial sittings during this visit. Her interest in this particular piece 
of work may be best illustrated by a series of notes from Miss Knollys, 
her lady-in-waiting. The first, dated December sixth, came a few 
weeks after the commission was given: 


The Princess' favorite flower is the rose, but H. R. H. is very anxious 
that you should make the background of the medal as soft and delicate as 
the one in the "War and Peace " medal, which she admires particularly. 
I may tell you in confidence that the Princess does not wish to have her 
name placed in relief, as in the case of the reverse of the Prince's medal, as 
she thinks it makes it look hard and cutting. Forgive me for making this 
remark and believe me, 

Yours very truly, 


Another note from Marlborough House, of December nineteenth, 

If you would bring the portrait here tomorrow morning at 10:45 o'clock, 
I would show it to the Princess with the greatest pleasure. You must for 
give me for not having written before, but I was always hoping that Her 


Royal Highness might be able to give you a sitting. But unfortunately 
she has been almost worked to death and has never had a spare moment. 

P. S. We leave London tomorrow afternoon. 
This was supplemented by the following: 

Since writing earlier in the evening the Princess has told me that she 
will see you at 1 130 tomorrow, so please be here then. 

And again on December twenty-ninth: 

The Princess says you were consulting together about the inscription 
to be put on the back of her medal, so I write one line to tell you privately 
that I am sure the one she would like best would be "Princess of Pity," 
as several of the newspapers have called her lately. 

How great was Princess Alexandra's interest in this medal was 
proved to me by two small slips of paper which I still have, upon 
which she wrote out the kind of letters she wanted used and how 
those letters were to be arranged to spell out the inscription, "The 
Princess of Pity, 1900." 

For the reverse of the plaque I submitted a group of the three 
figures, Faith, Hope and Charity, which were approved and duly 

When I arrived at Sandringham I found a large assembly of the 
guests already in the drawing room. Some had come down in the 
same train with me and by going into the royal carriages they knew 
that I was one of the invited guests and made the customary remarks 
about the weather. In the haH at Sandringham was the same cosy 
corner with the cheerful teakettle presided over by the Princess and 
the crackling fire in the enormous fireplace. 

A few men in shooting dress were sitting comfortably on the 
broad fire-guard with their teacups and cigarettes. Their heavy 
shooting boots, however, had given place to dainty patent leather 
pumps, with spirited little bows, which revealed not only the aris- 


tocratic legs, & la Sir Willoughby Patterne, but also gave an oppor 
tunity of displaying the last word in silk stockings. 

The prosaic detail of dress calls to mind a fact which was not 
peculiar to Sandringham alone, but usual at all English country 
house parties. I mean the enormous quantity of clothes the ladies 
brought with them, and the number of times they would retire to 
their rooms to reappear in gowns that had not been worn before. A 
woman would come down to breakfast in a plain morning dress, 
only to change it directly after for a walking costume, generally 
very smart and tailor-made. This she would change again for a 
more formal gown in which to meet the royal ladies at luncheon. 
Immediately after, that had to give way to a costume for riding, 
driving or walking. And teatime of course, with its opportunities 
for cosy chatting with the gentlemen who had been out shooting 
all day, was never overlooked as a time for displaying the latest 
creations in teagowns. At Sandringham however, these did not 
reveal that character of intimacy generally implied by this dress. 
But dinner was the peak of the curve. There the whole art of dress 
combined with the contents of the jewel box and the color sense of 
the wearers, was fully revealed. Some of the ladies even went so 
far as to inquire through the medium of the backstairs channels 
which colors would be worn by the royal ladies and principal guests, 
in order to match themselves effectively against so imposing a back 

The Prince, still in his shooting costume, was the first to greet me 
when I entered, and then the Princess and the other members of the 
family and household followed suit. There was a charm and warmth 
in that room which made one feel one was really welcome. When 
ever one had the slightest doubt upon this score, one needed only 
to observe the attitude of the entourage and then one could very 
nearly gauge where one stood. 

After tea came again the quaint ceremony of being weighed. 
As before, the Prince saw to it that none should escape. Even mem- 


bers of the family, no matter how often their weight had already been 
recorded in the book, were obliged to inscribe it again. 

The hour was late, and the guests soon retired to their rooms to 
prepare for dinner. I met my smiling valet again, but this time I 
too was smiling. There were no omissions in my wardrobe. 

At dinner I realized how large this house party was. At San- 
dringham the host and hostess sit opposite one another at the center 
of the table, instead of at the ends. This was customary with large 
parties. The circumference of the table as in everyday use was 
enough for twelve or fifteen people to be seated comfortably, but 
this time there were perhaps double that number. 

After dinner when we assembled in one of the drawing rooms, 
the Prince personally arranged the grouping at the card tables, 
where bridge was invariably the game. The stakes were only nomi 
nal and it was the rule that small as the differences might be, they 
should be evened up each night, when the gentlemen retired to the 
billiard room. The equerry would inform the Prince of his score, and 
if he were the loser, would receive a banknote with which to settle it. 

"Do you play bridge? " the Prince asked me. 

"No, Sir; I never had the opportunity to learn nor do I possess 
the necessary mental concentration for the game," was my reply. 

"Perhaps, then,' 1 he suggested, "it would interest you to sketch 
around and, if so, take your sketch book and draw whatever and 
whomever you like. I feel sure that nobody will object." 

I thanked him for the privilege, the importance of which I ful 
ly appreciated, and brought down my material. Secretly I had 
nursed that desire, but, of course, I should never have had the cour 
age to suggest it. Now I was relieved of all formality and I set to 

The first group of my sitters included Prince George of Greece, 
the Duke of Devonshire, the Duke of Roxburgh, Lord and Lady 
Londonderry, Georgiana, Lady Dudley, Mr. James Lowther and 
Lord Cadogan. 


Prince George of Greece was the second son of the then reigning 
King of the Hellenes, a Danish Prince placed upon that throne by 
the British Government. The Princess of Wales was his sister. 
His eldest son, who had married a sister of the Kaiser, later as 
cended the throne as King Constantine and more recently died in 
exile in Sicily. 

Prince George was a giant, some six feet six in height. When he 
accompanied his cousin, the Czarevitch, later Nicholas the Second, on 
his journey around the world, a fanatic had tried to stab the Russian 
heir to the throne, and Prince George succeeded in parrying the 
blow with his strong arm and thus saving his cousin's life. That 
exploit tended to add greatly to the Prince's popularity, and the 
manner in which he was treated showed that he was the spoiled child 
of that world. Having disappointed the fluttering hope of every 
eligible princess in Europe, he finally married Princess Marie Bona 
parte, a granddaughter of M. Blanc, the owner of the casino at Monte 
Carlo. Princess Marie brought him a dowry considered handsome 
even in those circles. Prince George was the gayest of the party, 
bubbling with jokes and humor and contrasting markedly with the 
solemn face of the Duke of Devonshire, who never once smiled 
throughout the evening. 

That Duke of Devonshire, earlier known as Lord Hartington, 
was the uncle of the present Duke. His long, bearded face was 
preternaturally serious. He spoke very slowly, and his face was an 
exact index of the way he looked upon himself. He was one of the 
foremost peers of his day. His wealth, like that of Lord London 
derry, was derived from coal mines chiefly. He was also a large 
landowner. The political dinners at his town house were consid 
ered the events of the season. The country seat of the Devon- 
shires, Chatsworth, is filled with priceless books and pictures accum 
ulated in over four hundred years of history. The house dates from 
JSSS* when it was begun by a Cavendish and completed by his 
widow, Bess of Hardwick, who there enacted the r61e of gaoler to 

Sir James Reid 
Private Physician to Queen Victoria 

Princess Victoria of Wales 


The Duke of Marlborough 

The late Duke of Devonshire 

The late Joseph Chamberlain 

Sir Robert L. Borden 
Former Prime Minister of Canada 

The Late Sir George White 
Defender of Lady smith 


Mary Queen of Scots. During the Jubilee season, the Duchess of 
Devonshire gave a fancy dress ball which remained for some time 
the talk of the town. The participants had a costly and elaborate 
book made of all the guests and costumes and presented it to the 
Duchess as a mark of their appreciation. She was the Mistress of 
the Robes to the Princess of Wales, which corresponds to the Prince's 
Master of the Horse. 

The Duke of Roxburgh was one of the younger members of the 
party. He was an officer of the Guards, tall and handsome. His 
enormous estate, Floors Castle, in Roxburghshire, taxed his resources 
heavily. Fortunately he was later relieved from the anxiety of its 
upkeep by his marriage to Miss Goelet, of New York, sister of Rob 
ert Goelet. 

Lady Londonderry, though she already had a grown daughter, 
who married Lord Stavordale, and later became Lady Ilchester, was 
still a famous beauty at this time. She was handsome, alert, witty 
and exceptionally sympathetic. Her profile was particularly beau 
tiful and from her slanting eyelids looked a pair of piercing eyes that 
seemed to penetrate to the soul of her interlocutors. Both Lady 
Londonderry and the Duchess of Devonshire had political salons, 
and there was a sort of friendly rivalry between them. Lady Lon 
donderry, however, included musicians and artists among her guests 
and the spirit of amity that pervaded the atmosphere of the salon 
was an attraction to those invited. 

James Lowther was a member of Parliament but not the Speaker 
who bore the same name. Lord Cadogan, the Lord Lieutenant of 
Ireland, small, elegant, with a finely cut profile and thin lips, and Sir 
Edward Hamilton were friends and guests of many years' standing. 

The day after my arrival, being a Sunday, the Prince of Wales 
went to church with me after breakfast ahead of the service to inspect 
the work so far completed; on those occasions he would be unaccom 
panied except perhaps by someone connected with the work. On 
the way to and from the church he would show his interest in the 


many objects about him, singling out special ones trees or build- 
.ings commenting and explaining in such a cordial way that one 
was almost inclined to forget his exalted position. 

Next morning the gentlemen went shooting. They all came down 
to breakfast prepared for a strenuous day. Generally, on such occa 
sions when the weather is fine, the ladies meet them at a spot pre 
arranged. Luncheon is sent in specially constructed vans and is 
served al fresco. Nothing could be more delightful, more exhilarat 
ing. The men arrived in high spirits, their lungs filled with the 
invigorating air of the hills after a morning's drive over the well- 
stocked preserves. Their appetites were commensurate with their 
healthy exertions. Everything was done to satisfy the most fas 
tidious taste. The menu was dainty and varied as if it were served 
at home. The quantities were ample. Coffee and smoking materials 
had hardly been passed around when the sign for resuming the 
hunt was given and the party broke up. The head gamekeeper 
appeared and with a low bow informed the Prince that everything 
was in readiness, and soon the gentlemen disappeared behind the 
hillocks from where the crackling of their guns testified to the fact 
that their drive was not in vain. 

On other days, if the weather was unfavorable, the ladies had 
luncheon at home. Sometimes only the Princess of Wales, Prin 
cess Victoria, Miss KnoUys and General Sir Dighton Probyn would 
be at table. 

Soon after I had finished my first few sketches, the Prince in 
quired about them and wished to see what I had done. After look 
ing them over, he said: 

"I would suggest, Mr. Fuchs, that these should be kept together 
intact. Perhaps you had better ask each sitter to sign his own." 
This remark was made aloud and was a command which no one 
would have cared to (disobey. 

After I returned to town, I consulted with Zahnsdorf , the fa 
mous binder, and had him fashion the best album ^that his capable 


mind could conceive. Clark, in Old Bond Street, the skillful silver 
smith of the Prince, another artist in his profession, constructed 
the clasp with a protective lock and key and the four corners of the 
book in sterling silver, the whole a monument to English workman 
ship. Subsequent to this, there were other similar episodes, the 
evidence of which, translated into black and white, I placed in the 
album as a depository. Today it is more than half -filled and is my 
most valued possession. Twice have I been approached, in discreet 
manner, and asked if I could be induced to part with the book. 
One of these tempters was wealthy beyond the "dream of avarice/' 
accustomed to obtaining any coveted object. A blank check was 
sent with the suggestion that the album might remain in my pos 
session if only I would consent to sign a document which would 
attest to its ultimate ownership. Fortunately, such dazzling offers 
have no lure for me. I am willing to admit that the consciousness 
that I, a plain artist, have in my possession such a treasure fills me 
with pardonable pride. I hope one day to find for it a permanent 
abiding place where it will be safe from the vicissitudes of the world, 
as well as from the greedy eyes of the ever-present dealers. They 
are unmindful of the sufferings of the poor artists who, laboring in 
the sweat of their brows, have produced the masterpieces which 
now enrich these men. 

As the book was the result of the suggestion of the Prince, I 
reserved one page for him which, on three of his subsequent visits to 
my studio, he signed. 

As the time was insufficient to make all the sketches I would 
have liked, I asked permission to continue next morning, which 
was granted, and the Duke and Duchess of York invited me to 
go to York Cottage, where I had a splendid opportunity to work 
while they read their morning papers. Others of the guests I sketched 
during the day whenever the occasion presented itself. When evening 
came and the Prince saw the collection, he at once noticed that there 
was none of himself and commented on it. I confessed that while 


I had almost literally taken his suggestion to sketch whomever I 
pleased, still I would not have dared to include his portrait with 
out his consent. He smiled and, when the game started a few min 
utes later, he had me sit at his side while I made full use of the cov 
eted opportunity. 

Before my departure the Prince received me and spoke of a 
medal which he wanted in rather a hurry. It was to be a double 
portrait of the Duke and Duchess of York, to be inserted in the 
presents they were to distribute on the occasion of their forthcoming 
visit to the Colonies. Before leaving I spoke to the Duke about it, 
who promised me the sittings as soon as he should return to town 
after the holidays. A few days later I received the following com 
munication from York Cottage, Sandringham: 

December 23, 1900. 

I am desired by H. R. H., the Duke of York, to let you know that he 
would like to be represented on the medal that you are designing in the 
full dress of a captain in the Royal Navy. T. R. H. the Duke and Duchess 
of York hope to be able to both give you a sitting when they come to 
London some time after January 3rd. 

Yours faithfully, 


Of that medal only three hundred were struck and these for 
that occasion only. It is the only work I was privileged to execute 
for Their Royal Highnesses. 

Lady Randolph's bust was sufficiently advanced so that her sit 
tings could be resumed for the marble. I was glad to have the 
opportunity of again seeing her often. But others shared with me 
the same feeling. A handsome young man, son of Colonel and Mrs. 
Cornwallis West and a friend of her son Winston, came to th6 studio 
almost daily while she posed. 


Mrs. Comwallis West was most ambitious. She had two beau 
tiful daughters, the elder was even stately, and she decided to se 
cure desirable husbands for them, in which she succeeded. The 
elder married Prince Pless, owner of large estates in Germany 
and Russia. The Kaiser was a constant visitor at the big parties 
given at their different palaces and estates. The other daughter 
married the Duke of Westminster, one of the greatest landowners 
in the heart of London. He owns several thousand houses in Bel- 
gravia, the most fashionable part of town, also in Grosvenor 
Square and a large part of Mayfair. Grosvenor House in Park 
Lane, the best known among the palaces in Millionaire Row, con 
tained a picture gallery which was occasionally shown as a mark 
of esteem. One of its treasures, the Blue Boy by Gainsborough, is 
now in the collection of Mr. Henry E. Huntington in California. 

The achievement in the marriage of her daughters more than 
exceeded the keenest expectations of Mrs. Cornwallis West, though 
the Duke and Duchess of Westminster have long since been divorced 
and each has married again. She now sought a wife worthy of her 
only son. He was so good looking that he had but to choose. Her 
disappointment was therefore great when she learned that he in 
tended to marry one of her best friends, a lady of her own age. Lady 
Randolph wanted to show the world that this was a love match, so 
she immediately discarded her title and became plain Mrs. George 
Comwallis West. Her husband lived at her house in Great Cumber 
land Place and sought other employment than shooting and visit 
ing. Most of the troubles of the idle rich are caused by lack of 
occupation and too much time. When it turned out that they were 
ill-matched, they parted, and when they were free once more, he 
married Mrs. Patrick Campbell, the actress, whom he accompanied 
on her tours. It was in New York that I saw him again. Mrs. 
West resumed the title of Lady Randolph Churchill and remarried 
also. Her death a few years ago terminated one of the most bril 
liant careers of any woman of her time. 


One of the amusingly entertaining houses was that of Mr. 
and Mrs. Asher Wertheimer. Soon after rny arrival in London, 
Sargent invited me to lunch. When I went to his studio in Tite 
Street to fetch him, he said that he had accepted an invitation for 
both of us to lunch with a man whose portrait he was painting. 
This was Asher Wertheimer. We went first to his gallery in New 
Bond Street, where he showed us some china. When Sargent par 
ticularly admired one piece, Mr. Wertheimer had the clerk wrap it 
up and send it to the studio; protestations were of no avail. 

The Wertheimers kept open house at Connaught Place near Hyde 
Park. They needed the enormous building for their family was large 
and grown-up. The drawing room in white and gold extended 
through the full length of the house and contained the most beauti 
ful furniture to be found. Then there was the hall in which Sar 
gent painted the two eldest daughters in three-quarter length,.Jand 
the schoolroom where the three youngest children posed for their 
picture. In the drawing room hung the portrait of Mrs. Wertheimer, 
the first of the series, which he later painted again because it did 
not satisfy him. In the second portrait he displayed all that mas 
tery which he possesses in such high degree. 

The Wertheimers gave elaborate dinner parties; the children 
attending to the preservation of their Bohemian character, artists 
felt quite at home there. Mr. Wertheimer gladly gave his help 
where he felt that it would advance a talent. Mancini did some 
portraits for him and so did Brough, a young artist of promise who 
was killed in a railway accident. Writers, musicians and actors 
were all welcome. Sargent was the central and outstanding figure. 
The Wertheimers were the most happy-go-lucky family I ever knew, 
but they also had their great sorrows. Of the two eldest sons, one 
died in London and one in South Africa. The third son was then 
still quite young. This deprived the house of much of its spon 
taneous gayety and exuberant spirit. 

I was happy to read after the death of Mr, Wertheimer, that 


Sargent's pictures had been left to the nation and they now occupy 
a room by themselves in the National Gallery. 

Conditions in England were not unlike those in this country 
now. The discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa brought 
on an undreamed period of prosperity. Taxes were small, as Eng 
land maintained only a moderate standing army, and the people 
spent money lavishly and indiscriminately. New tendencies in art 
and literature were discernible, but the new art was not permitted 
to enter the Academy, which probably accounted for the number 
of smaller art societies which sprang up. They sought contact with 
the world without dependence on the Council of the Royal Academy. 
Of these societies, the New English Art Club and the International 
Society of Painters, Sculptors and Engravers were the most impor 
tant. The latter exhibited also much abroad and brought greater 
popularity to some artists than they could have achieved even 
through the Academy. A case in point is that of Sir John Lavery. 
He was known and appreciated long before the Academy ever con 
sidered paying him the honor he deserved; and the same was true 
of many others. The War has changed this; it blew like a hurri 
cane through the antiquated institutions, cleaned them out and let 
air in and sunlight. And this was as it should be. 


"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die. 1 ' (Campbell.) 

[N December eleventh, 1900, 1 received word from Wind 
sor that the Queen wished to see me the following 
Saturday between eleven and twelve o'clock. When 
I arrived she spoke of the death of her grandson, 
Prince Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holstein, which 
had occurred two months before in South Africa, where, during the 
war, he had contracted typhoid fever. He was the oldest son of the 
Queen's daughter Helene, who lived nearby at Cumberland Lodge, 
where her husband was in charge of Windsor Castle. The Queen 
wished to have a memorial of Prince Christian Victor placed in St. 
George's Chapel, founded by Edward III, who in 1348 instituted 
there the Order of the Garter. 

On viewing the interior from the entrance the entire church 
seemed a mass of filigree in Gothic style. The delicately joined 
mouldings which radiate in profusion from the columns and pil 
asters, blend harmoniously with the exquisite rosettes on the ceiling, 
producing a symphony of lines such as I have seen only in the Cathe 
dral of Cologne. The Queen's Gallery, right up to the altar, is filled 
with three tiers of immense pews, skilfully carved in wood and 
crowned by canopies. Their daintily chiseled details look almost 
like lacework. They taper into a point, behind which are arranged 
the escutcheons and swords of the different members of the exalted 
order, and, towering above all, is a row of imposing flags each bear 
ing the coat-of-arms of its Knight. 



The effect is a blaze of color enhanced by the rays of the sun 
filtering through a thousand pieces of stained glass formed into 
priceless pictures by the skillful hand of the artist. And looking 
west, the gallery is separated from the aisle by an equally gorgeous 
screen whose proportions offer ample space for the magnificent organ 
which thunders its mighty diapason throughout the edifice. 

There are several small side chapels filled with sculptures of all 
ages and all styles. One of these, the Braye Chapel, offered the best 
site for the memorial which was to take the form of a monument ; 
its south wall was nearly bare. 

I started on my sketches at once. The Queen was anxious to 
see them as soon as possible. Her health was none too good and her 
doctors advised a change of climate. They thought that the invig 
orating air of the sea would benefit her and when finally I was ready 
to submit my models, I was requested to bring them to Osborne. It 
was about six o'clock of an evening in the second week of January 
that I arrived. 

Osborne House was purchased by the Queen in 1845 and con 
verted into a pretentious villa overlooking Southampton Water. 
King Edward later transformed it into a home for convalescent offi 
cers of the Army and Navy, and presented it to the nation. 

The day I arrived the Queen did not leave her room, but she 
asked to see the sketches. While I was waiting in one of the draw 
ing rooms, Princess Christian greeted me in a low voice and asked 
for the model, which she took to the Queen. After a while she came 
back with the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg. They were pleased and had 
the Queen's approval; the Princesses also liked it. 

That same evening I left Osborne. While crossing the Narrows 
the moon threw its silvery rays over the water. There was not a 
sound. The boat, nearly empty, glided silently through the riplets. 
I leaned over the rail at the bow and as I watched the dark outlines 
of the castle fading in the enveloping mist, an unspeakable sadness 
came over me. I felt lonely; I felt as though a visitation were 


about to come over the world. My presentiment proved true. A 
week later the Queen was no longer alive. 

I returned to nay studio. It was gloomy there, but it was gloomy 
outside too. It was one of those moments when we are faced with 
the fundamental questions in life which make us stop and think. 

Although the death of the Queen had not been entirely unex 
pected, the news of the actual occurrence was a stunning blow. 
It took time for the world to realize that the Queen, who for over 
sixty years had given her best to the welfare of her country, who 
had steered it through so many vicissitudes, who had added an 
empire of over 300,000,000 people in India to her domain, whose per 
sonality was such that she was the mediator of peace in the world, 
had closed her eyes forever. 

Preparations for bringing the Queen to London were expedited. 
The members of the Royal Family hurried to Cowes. Mourners from 
all the Courts of Europe came to England. To enumerate each one 
would be simply to make a copy of the Almanac de Gotha. The 
Kaiser was one of the first and came prepared to make a long stay. 

The day after the Queen's death I received a telegram which 
read as follows: 

Come Osborne immediately. Take necessary things along to make 
a sketch and a Totenmaske for a bust. Answer when arriving. Leave 
Waterloo n :20, Southampton 1 130, arrive at Cowes 3:00. 


I soon had my materials packed and was in the train which 
was taking me back to that place where only a week ago I had been 
for the first time in my life, and which I did not anticipate seeing 
again under such tragic aspects. 

Von Pfyffer, the Queen's secretary, awaited my arrival. There 
was also a crowd of those curious people who waste their time be 
cause to them it is a commodity without value. A few reporters 
with cameras pointing toward me were there. Luckily, in spite of 


the royal carriage, I did not look regal to them and consequently 
not worthy of their inquisitive machines. One fellow at the gate, 
unwilling to miss any chance at all, tried to snapshot me, but I 
threw my coat over my head and escaped an ttndesired publicity. 

The house was literally filled with mourners and it severely taxed 
the resourcefulness of Lord Edward Pelham Clinton to accommodate 
them all. There was much confusion. The corridors were crowded 
with people moving about silently, and there were so many that it 
was even difficult to distinguish between the royal mourners and 
their attendants. I was shown into one of the rooms to wait until 
the King could be informed of my presence. He was besieged on all 
sides; first, as the chief mourner on whose shoulders rested every 
decision pertaining to the funeral; then as host to so many visitors 
of importance requiring his personal attention; and last as the new 
King of a vast empire. 

A continuous stream of telegrams and mail poured in, some of 
them requiring replies which only he could give. So that when I 
was at last brought before him, I could well appreciate the magni 
tude of his task. I was ushered into his study. He was grave; 
never had I seen him so serious. He first thanked me for an expres 
sion of condolence I had sent the previous day, and then he spoke 
of a bust of his mother which he wished to have made and which 
should, as nearly as possible, represent her as she was in her later 
days. He asked if I had brought the materials necessary for the 
deathmask with me and what help I would require, if any, where 
upon I begged that I be permitted first to see the Queen, after which 
I could report. 

I was shown into the death chamber. There she lay, white as 
snow, her head covered with a lace bonnet, her hands clasping a 
tortoiseshell cross, which contrasted conspicuously with the white 
of the surroundings. Her regal profile looked more regal still in the 
serenity of death. Her marriage veil covered the entire figure and 
the bed was strewn with flowers, mostly lilies, which saturated the 


room with their penetrating scent but did not conceal the heavi 
ness of an atmosphere from which light and air had been excluded* 
A few candles burning near the bed were the only source of a sad, 
flickering light. Above her head hung a watercolor depicting her 
beloved husband on his deathbed, which only emphasized the trag 
edy of the scene. Beside her bed on the left lay a few photographs 
which had been handled so much that they were indistinguishable; 
they, too, were pictures of the Prince Consort, which she had car 
ried with her ever since he departed from this life. The rest of the 
room was shrouded in darkness. 

Princess Christian entered. Her eyes were red from weeping. 
First she introduced me to the nurse who was keeping watch in the 
back of the room, and then she asked what I intended to do. I 
showed her the telegram. She said that it had been the Queen's 
wish that her body should remain undisturbed after death and that 
the family desired to respect that wish; that, however, the final 
decision rested with the King. I replied that I could appreciate such 
feelings, the more so because also I had to lament the loss of my dear 
ones, the dearest in this world, whose wishes would be ever sacred 
to me. I had already decided, upon entering the room, that I should 
prefer to make my studies in black and white only, in view of the 
fact that the mask was to be used solely in modeling the bust, and 
my experience had taught me of how little assistance these death- 
masks are. 

In reporting to the King I explained the reasons which prompted 
me to make drawings only, unless His Majesty should command 
me to do otherwise. He was satisfied to leave it to me, and I com 
menced my work. 

It was dinnertime. The guests, one after another, were retiring 
to their rooms. I longed for the moment when I should be able to 
give myself up to my onerous task. Just when I was about to start, 
Queen Alexandra came in. She was overcome by her grief. I hardly 
knew what to say or do. She spoke of the Queen and what she had 


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TA? Telegram which called Mr. Fuchs to Osborne on the Occasion of Queen 

Victoria s Death 

Queen Victoria 


meant to her, of how majestic she looked and of the pallor of her 
face, from which Death had removed every trace of age. 

When Queen Alexandra noticed my preparations for the draw 
ing, she looked at me inquiringly. I explained to her what had 
been decided only a few minutes before. She seemed to be relieved 
of an anxiety which evidently had occupied the minds of all the 
relatives. I accompanied her to the door. When she bade me good 
bye I bowed low over her outstretched hand and assured her that 
I should always remain the Queen's most humble servant, where 
upon she pointed toward the bed and said, "The Queen she is 
still with us.* 7 And I understood. 

During the next few hours I was able to throw myself undis 
turbed into my task. The picture was so sublime that any artist 
would have longed to possess superhuman gifts for the portrayal of 
its majesty. Emotion and ardor struggled within me. But soon 
the image began to unfold. I felt a sensation as of being lifted up, 
far above the sorrows of a mourning world, and as though my hand 
were guided by a force I had never experienced before. Like magic the 
outlines evolved out of an indefinite mist and when at last I had placed 
the final accentuating strokes and was about to draw back to receive 
the impression of the whole ... I found myself surrounded by 
an array of Royalty such as had never before been gathered together. 

There was a deep silence. 

The Queen was the first to move. She approached the bed, 
from which she took a few flowers which she entwined with a fern 
and handed them to me. Her silence was more eloquent than any 
words could have been. 

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and, turning, I saw a pair of 
eyes like those of an eagle fixed upon me. The Queen, noticing my 
bewilderment, said, "This is the Kaiser/' He looked quite differ 
ent then than he did when I had seen him years before mounting 
and dismounting his horse. It was one of those rare occasions when 
he wore evening clothes. The broad blue ribbon of the Garter across 


his breast and the sparkling diamonds of the star, contrasted viyidly 
with the somberness of their background. He addressed me as if 
the minutes he had known me were so many years. He said, "Go 
on, Puchs, youVe made a good start, but you must accentuate this 
and that." I bowed respectfully. Then the King interposed. He 
also wore evening clothes with the Order of the Garter. He was 
more subdued in manner and far more sympathetic, and he said, 
"I feel that your suggestion was right. Such studies as these will 
be more helpful to you." 

I ventured to say that with the King's permission I would like 
to work through the night, making a series of sketches and studies, 
such as would be useful for other purposes than the bust alone. 
There was no objection to this. The other visitors also looked at 
the sketch, but no one said anything. It was late. One by one they 
left the room and I was soon again alone in the middle of the night, 
surrounded by silence. 

There was a light tap at the door and a messenger entered. He 
brought a note written in pencil, which read: " Please make me a 
sketch of our beloved Queen as she lies there on her bed surrounded 
by flowers she loved. A." It was from Queen Alexandra. 

I now had ample opportunity to collect myself and resume my 
work, bearing in mind what I should require. The night passed 
quickly. Long before daybreak the Queen sent to inquire if I had 
been able to complete the sketch for her, I replied that I had made 
four smaller sketches and that I should be very happy if Her Majesty 
would select the one she preferred. Then came this note: 

January 24, 1901. 

My most grateful thanks for your touching words in your telegram on 
the loss of our beloved and great Queen the loss is too overwhelming, the 
sorrow unspeakable. Thank you also for so kindly letting me have the 
choice of the four smaller sketches I think the large one you did yester 
day quite beautiful and very like. 


Where would you like me to see the drawings, in her dear room or 
here in mine, where I might see them perhaps more undisturbed? 


She chose from the four designs one rather elaborate in detail, 
one in which I had brought in as much as possible of the picture as 
a whole. 

In the morning, Princess Christian was the first visitor. She 
told me that Professor von Herkomer had been sent by an illus 
trated paper to make a sketch and that the 'King had given his per 
mission. She wished to suggest that I give him a choice of position 
when he arrived. As my work was finished this was no sacrifice to 
me. Soon the Princess brought him into the room and presented me 
to him. He was so impressed with the serenity of the picture that 
he exclaimed time after time to the Princess, "O, how wonderful, 
how wonderful!" I wanted to give him the benefit of solitude and 
was just leaving the room when the King sent for me. I took with 
me the remaining five drawings and asked the King's permission to 
submit them all and offer one to him. He selected the one he saw 
first the evening before and accepted this for himself. 

On returning to the room I was informed that we must get ready 
to leave, as the preparations for removing the body to London would 
soon begin. 

After the King saw Herkomer's hasty sketch he again sent for 
me and said, " Although Professor von Herkomer has been sent here 
it seems to me that if anything is published, it should be one of your 
sketches. " 

I replied, "With Your Majesty's most gracious permission I 
would like to submit, that the occasion is so solemn that I would 
prefer not to desecrate it by any thought of self/' 

Von Herkomer and I departed in the same carriage, we crossed 
on the same boat, but each kept to himself. As a member of the 
Academy and the more important of us two it devolved upon him 
to address me first, should he wish to do so; but as he remained 


silent there was no occasion for me to do otherwise. And leaning 
once more over the rail at the bow, where I had stood only a few 
days before, I had plenty of leisure to reflect upon the impermanence 
of life and the sudden changes which often a single day, yes, an hour, 
brings about. 

When we parted at Waterloo Station, we were still the strangers 
we had been in the beginning. 

And here is an instance of what I meant when I spoke earlier in 
these pages of the human element which counts for so much: On 
account of always having lived a more or less solitary life, probably 
through lack of social talents, I have, no doubt, missed some of 
the small benefits which the kind word of a helpful friend will procure. 
On the other hand, it has given me ample opportunity to launch 
forth into the many branches of my art, in whose neighborly do 
mains I delighted to wander. It matters little how one achieves 
one's happiness but it is important that one should achieve it. 

On the twenty-eighth of that month, the London Times published 
the following Court Circular: 

"Osborne, January 26th. Professor von Herkomer and Herr 
Emil Fuchs have had the honor of making sketches for a portrait 
and a bust of Her Majesty, the late Queen." 

Photographs of two of the drawings which I had made at Osborne 
were sent to the brother and sisters of King Edward and to the 
Emperor. The letter which the Duke of Connaught, the King's 
only surviving brother, sent to me, in autograph, is so touchingly 
beautiful that I shall quote it: 

March 2, 1901. 

Accept my very best thanks for sending me the excellent fac-simile of 
your sad drawings made at Osborne. I will ever value them as being the 
last likeness that could ever be made of my beloved mother, the Queen. 
Believe me, 

Yours sincerely, 


- rw ^ *jk 

Medal Commemorating the Termination oj the South African War 

}ueen Alexandra as Princess of Pity 
Reverse (Faith, Hope and Charity} 

Official Coronation Medal 
King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra 

Flowers from the Deathbed 
of jieen Victoria 

King Haakon of Norway 
When Prince Charles of Denmark 

$r *?rffi<r* 

\ :/!. ' .. >^y ' ' ^ "'"' f ift 

Medal Commemorating the Signing of the Peace Treaty 
June 28, IQIQ 


As soon as the funeral ceremonies were over and the guests began 
to depart, I had an audience with the King, at which I submitted 
the medals of Queen Victoria which in the meantime had been 
completed. His Majesty had a few struck off the dies. I think 
three of the largest, one of which he ordered in gold to be sent to the 
Empress Frederick at Friedrichsruhe. Later, the King permitted 
copies of the largest size in silver to be presented to the British 
Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum in. South Kensington 
and to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. 

On February twentieth of that year I received the following let 
ter from Marlborough House: 


I am commanded by the King to ask you to be here (at Marlborough 
House) on Friday next, the twenty-second instant, at 3:15 o'clock P. M. 

Please send me a line in reply that I may know this letter has reached 
you safely. 

Yours faithfully, 


The form and style of this letter, also the request for an answer, 
were somewhat unusual. It was more than ordinarily formal, but 
I soon understood the reason. When I arrived at the appointed 
hour and was brought into the King's presence, His Majesty handed 
me a small case and said: 

"We have decided to confer upon you the honorary fourth class 
of our Royal Victorian Order/' 





Professor von Hericomer and, Herr EmQ Fuehs 
lave bad the honour of mating sketches for a 
portrait and taafe of Her Majesty the late Queen. 


"Grasps the skirts of happy chance." (Tennyson.) 

HORTLY after the ascent of the King to the throne, the 
firm of Thos. de la Rue & Co., Ltd., who for gen 
erations had made the postage stamps of the realm 
submitted a design which they had already pre 
pared. It was taken from a photograph of the King 
in uniform. It did not meet with His Majesty's approval. He had 
quite definite ideas as to how he wished the stamp to be treated. 
Evidently the way the first designs were altered by De La Rue did not 
please him either, and he asked them to communicate with me and 

to make the head I had modelled of him, with the free bare neck, the 
base for the design. They therefore sent a member of their firm 
to discuss the subject with me. So far I had made only a medallion, 
which was in sculpture. It could have been adapted for the stamp, 
but I suggested an entirely new drawing. My suggestion was accepted 
and the King intimated his willingness to give me the necessary 


Head of King Edward VII for the fostage Stamp 
(From an Etching by the Artist) 



It may be of interest to read two coinmtinications received from 
Thos. De La Rue and Company, Ltd. ; one in March, 1901 , is as follows : 


With reference to the designs for the English Unified Stamps which 
you are preparing by command of His Majesty the King, we would point 
out that the present issue is the outcome of a protracted inquiry made by 
a Joint Committee of Experts which was appointed by the Postmaster 
General in October, 1884, to consider the designs and colors of the Postage 

The principal point the Committee had in view was to obtain a strik 
ing distinction between the different duties of Stamps, not only by day 
light but by artificial light, so that the sorters of the post offices could 
easily check the values of the Stamps, even when obliterated. 

The difficulty in obtaining sufficient contrast between the Stamps is 
enhanced by the fact that only two colors of doubly fugitive inks, viz., 
purple and green, are available. 

It is essential to use doubly fugitive inks, because the Stamps have to 
be sensitive, not only under a printed, but also under a written cancellation. 

The distinction between the duties is obtained, partly by employing 
coloured papers and partly by printing the Stamps in two colours. 

We submit that the itfd, 2d, 4$, $d, gd, lod and i/- Stamps, which 
are printed in two colours, and the 3^ Stamp, which is printed in one 
colour on yellow paper, are good in design, and that it would be most 
desirable to leave them as at present, inserting the crown on the borders, 
as shown on the accompanying designs. 

We think that new designs might with advantage be substituted for 
the J>4d, id, 2}4d and 6d stamps. 

Introducing new designs for these four duties would not in any way 
upset the object the Joint Committee had in view, provided the }4d is 
printed in green, the id in purple, the 2}4d on blue paper, and the 6d on 
red paper. 

The other is dated the nineteenth of April, 1901 : 

With reference to the Medallion which you are preparing by command 
of His Majesty the King for the embossing die, we quite understand that 
this is only to be used for the English, Indian and Colonial embossed 
stamps, and we undertake that it shall not be employed in any other way. 


We shall be glad if you will kindly send us three plaster casts and we 
hope that His Majesty will be graciously pleased to initial one, as he did 
in the case of the design for the stamp, in order to give the necessary author 
ity to the Government for its adoption. 

P. S. We enclose two copies of the original design, and letter of approval 
from Windsor. 

The designing of a stamp was new to me. The drawing for the 
head and the model for the embossed stamp are not all that is needed. 
The first has to be engraved in steel in the size required for the stamp 
and, as I was not familiar with the technic of engraving but knew 
how easy it would be to lose the likeness in the process, I asked the 
firm for a skillful man who would do the engraving in my studio and 
under my guidance. 

The process is quite difficult but interesting. He first made a 
photograph from the drawing in the size required and from that he 
did the work. Then he started his engraving on the steel die. It 
was all accomplished by the aid of horizontal lines, the different 
thicknesses of which constituted the modeling. The slightest error 
meant some loss of likeness. Sometimes it would take him a whole 
day to cut only part of a line. Once the entire head was on the 
steel, the task of copying the features as accurately as possible 
from the drawing proved quite intricate. As an illustration to 
make a man realize the salient points of a feature is one thing; to 
make him interpret it in his work is another. If the engraver could 
have made portraits, he need not have worked for someone else. 

There was an inevitable loss of likeness, but I felt that the way we 
proceeded would reduce this to a minimum. Every few days we 
would take an impression of the engraving as it progressed. In this 
way we were able to note immediately any faults at the point where 
they occurred and could make our corrections before proceeding 
further. It made an interesting collection for my album, to which 
I soon added the designs bearing the King's approval. Of the draw 
ing of the head I possess only a fac-simile; the original is the prop- 

Queen Victoria 
Medal Commemorating Her Reign in the Twentieth Century 

First Approved Design of the Edwardian Postage Stamp 

Hudson-Fulton Commemoration Medal 


erty of the Government and was sent to Somerset House, which is 
the office of Inland Revenue. 

One day word came from Windsor that the King wished to see 
the stamp. It was then just in the preliminary stages. Not even 
the final colors were available. So we took an impression from the 
head and another from the frame and pasted the two together. The 
one-penny stamp, being the one most generally used, was the farthest 
advanced, and to convey the idea as it would appear in color, we 
made one impression in green and another in mauve. The King 
saw them and approved, and they were promptly added to the col 
lection in my album. This is the letter from Sir Arthur Ellis which 
accompanied the return of the proofs: 


I return the stamp and memo which I have submitted to the King. His 
Majesty likes the pattern best which he has marked, "Approved E R" 
but thinks that the head is pasted on leaning too far forward and prefers 
the other which is marked X as to the uprightness and pose of the head; 
I have explained that this only arises from the slovenly way the head has 
been affixed to the design drooping forward. 

His Majesty likes one-penny * 4 A" in a straight line better than <1 B. M 

He thinks all the heads should in every case (whatever the value of the 
stamp) have the crown above. 

In the case of the Victorian head, Her Majesty was wearing the crown 
so this was not so significant. 

The photo makes the hair black! 1 ! ! which is wrong. 

To design a postage stamp was not an unmixed pleasure. Soon 
after it came out, the world seemed to be composed of only critics 
critics among the artists, the collectors, my friends, and of course 
among my enemies. On the twenty-second of May, Sir Arthur 
Ellis sent me a little note which prepared me for the news that even 
in the House of Commons I had critics. He said, 

"You may see that a question is to be asked in the House of 
Commons this evening and the reply which we have made out will I 


think be complete and satisfactory. But it shows how much jealousy 
always exists!" 

To have a question asked about one in the House of Commons 
is such an honor that I feel I should give the incident in full. 

On Friday, May twenty-fourth, the London Times published 
tinder the heading "PARLIAMENT," the following report: 


Thursday, May 23 

Mr. Ellis Griffith (Anglesey) asked the Secretary to the Treasury, as repre 
senting the Postmaster General, whether the designs for the new post 
age stamps had been entrusted to an Austrian sculptor; and if so, 
whether this was due to the fact that there was no British artist com 
petent for the work. 

Mr. Austen Chamberlain (Worcestershire, E.) It is the case that the por 
trait of Ms Majesty, which has been used in the preparation of the 
designs to appear on the new postage stamps, is by a foreign artist, 
there being in existence an excellent profiled portrait executed 
only last year by the Austrian sculptor, Mr. Fuchs, who is now a 
resident in London. It is not to be inferred that no British artist 
was considered to be competent for the work. 

Mr. Ellis Griffith asked who had the right of selecting the artist. 
Mr. Austen Chamberlain I must have notice of that question. 

Lord Balcarres (Lancashire, Chorley) asked how the unsuitability of British 
artists was determined. 

Mr. Austen Chamberlain I have expressly stated already that the un 
suitability of British artists was not to be inferred from the choice 

Dr. Farquharson (Aberdeenshire, W.) asked if the opinion of the President 
of the Royal Academy or other leaders of the artistic profession was 
taken before the selection was made. 

Mr. Austen Chamberlain I have already said twice that I must have 
notice of any further questions. (Hear, hear.) 

Again, on June seventh, this was published in the Times: 


Thursday, June 6 

The House resumed after the Whitsuntide holidays. The Speaker took the 

chair shortly after 3 o'clock. 


Dr. Farquharson (Aberdeenshire, W.) asked the Secretary to the Treasury, 
as representing the Postmaster General, whether, before the com 
mission for designs for the new postage stamps were given to an 
Austrian artist, the advice of the President of the Royal Academy 
and the leaders of the artistic profession was obtained. 

Mr. Ellis Griffith (Anglesey) asked the Secretary to the Treasury whether 
he could state who was responsible for entrusting the designs to a 
foreign artist, and whether an opportunity was afforded any other 
artist to submit designs; and, if not, what was the reason for such 

Mr. Austen Chamberlain (Worcestershire, E.) answering both questions said, 
The responsibility for the designs of the new issue of stamps rests 
with the Postmaster General, who took the pleasure of his Majesty 
the King as to the portrait of his Majesty which should be used in the 
preparation of the design. The portrait selected by his Majesty was 
executed only last year by a gentleman who has long been resident in 
London, and whose work deservedly enjoys a high reputation in this 
country. As the portrait was thought to be particularly adapted for 
the purpose in question, it did not appear necessary to invite designs 
from any other artists. It was not thought necessary to consult the 
President of the Royal Academy or the leaders of the artistic profes 
sion on the subject, as the selection of the portrait to be used in the 
preparation of the designs was obviously a matter in which His 
Majesty's own wishes should carry most weight. 

This was the last argument I heard on the subject of the postage 

Truth published the following poem: 



New stamps are wanted. Such a chance 

But seldom can occur, 
For casting on poor British art 

So undeserved a slur; 
Thus, if you please, Herr Fuchs they choose, 

An Austrian sculptor he, 
To draw our English King! oh, what 

An excellent decree! 

Not seldom has the Treasury, 

Right glad to play its part, 
Brought down its foot full heavily 

On slighted British Art ; 
But now as though to emphasize 

Its policy of spite, 
The heavy foot put down before 

It "stamps" with all its might! 

The making of a postage stamp is not the simple project casual 
consideration would assume it to be. When King George came to 
the throne and the question of a new stamp was under advisement, 
this time the Royal Academy was duly consulted and made its 
recommendations as to the most desirable artist. To Mm the work 
was given and, to ensure complete success, he was supplied with an 
assistant, the head of the school for decorative design, who was to 
have charge of the frame. 

The issue of this stamp was awaited with the keenest anticipation. 
All the preliminary conditions were present to make it a great work 
of art. I still vividly recall how, the night before the coronation, 
June twenty-first, 1911, some of my solicitous friends urged me to 
take a little holiday, so that I might be spared witnessing the enthu 
siasm attendant upon the reception of the new stamp (of which they 
had seen a specimen), and also hearing disagreeable comparisons to 
the disparagement of my King Edward stamp. It pleases me now 
to recall how unfotinded was the exceeding anxiety of my friends, and 

Alienne de Carriere 

Mrs. Marshall Field HI 


that a preponderance of curiosity impelled me to remain in London, 
where I could be au courant with the discussions in the House of 
Commons which started once more soon after the appearance of 
the much heralded stamp. It was not now the question of the artist 
being an Austrian or that the Academy had not been consulted, 
but the effect notwithstanding was that drastic changes had to be 
made in the design. 

The following excerpt is from a book published in England in 
1921, The Stamps of Great Britain, written by Stanley Phillips pre 
sumably in an official capacity: 

On Coronation Day, June 22nd, 1911, the J^d and the id of the new 
Georgian series were issued, and in the storm of criticism which they evoked, 

(A) Original Die 

(B) Deepened Die 

Enlargement showing the Two Dies of the First Georgian J^d from The Stamps of Great 
Britain (1911-1921), Stanley Phillips 

the minor defects of the Edwardian stamps were forgotten. Few people 
could be found to say a good word for them, in regard either to design or 
execution, and so great was the outcry in the public press that, although 
great improvement was made in the printing of the stamps, the Postmaster- 
General was forced to announce that the designs would be altered as soon as 
possible, and, as a matter of fact, the dies had been deepened almost at once, 
giving rather better results. 


On New Year's Day, 1912, the " improved" J^d and id Georgian stamps 
were put on sale, but the alterations in the designs were not great and did 
nothing to influence public opinion in their favour. The 2d stamp, issued 
in August of the same year, was, however, much more satisfactory, and 
better hopes were entertained for the remainder of the series. 

The enlargements produced herewith showing the two dies of the 
first Georgian stamps may be of interest. 

If these stamps did not prove as successful as everyone expected 
them to be, the cause is simple and evident. The artist entrusted 
with the design was an eminent sculptor and that part of the work 
which appeared on the embossed stamp, for the stamped envelopes, 
was far superior to the drawing on the flat stamp. As I have men 
tioned elsewhere, so few sculptors are good draftsmen and con 
sider the value of light and shade as a painter wotdd. This lack 
of emphasis is responsible for the effect achieved in the flat stamp. 
Of course I lacked the assistance of a professor from the Victoria 
and Albert Museum, but my knowledge of painting and drawing 
seems to have supplied the omission. 


When I was occupied with the memorial to the Duke of Coburg 
for Sandringham Church, the question of inscription and armorial 
bearing had to be decided. I submitted my designs and in reply 
received the following letter from Sir Arthur Ellis: 


Personally I prefer the Gothic shields as more in harmony with the rest 
of the surrounding church decoration and the actual monument itself. 

But your heraldic drawing is deplorable, my dear friend your Russian 
eagle is a gruesome fowl like a plucked turkey in a poulterer's window! 
Look for a piece of Russian money (rouble) or on the back of the Duke of 
Edinburgh's marriage medal There is a beautiful heraldic spread double 
eagle ! which will put your miserable pullet to flight ! 

When I submitted my sketch for the Prince Christian Memorial at 
Osborne, the Duchess of Coburg wished me to make a bust of the 


late Duke. She asked if I could progress far enough with the model 
to make it possible to bring it to Coburg that summer and finish 
the work there. To escape the dull season in London one would 
probably be content with a far less important excuse. 

Coburg is a small town in Thuringia. It is in close proximity 
to the Grand Duchy of Weimar, better known on account of its hav 
ing been the home of Goethe and Schiller and, later, of Abbe Liszt. 

The court in Weimar had traditionally favored art and artists, 
which had made it famous. Like the Medicis, the Weimarians 
knew that art endures and, that they themselves might endure, 
they closely interwove their lives with the great men of their time. 

Coburg leaves no such inheritance to posterity. Their ruling 
families have been related to almost all the reigning houses of Europe 
and have been so enormously rich, that this they considered quite 
sufficient to ensure to them "immortality/* The castle in Coburg 
is a splendid building, commensurate with their great wealth. It con 
tains nothing which differs much from other abodes of its kind. The 
room allotted to me was none too elaborate either in its decoration or 
its furnishings, which was only natural, considering that I was to 
work there in plaster. 

The Court spent the summer not far away at Castle Rosenau, a 
rather simple house for royalty. I was asked for luncheon several 
times, which was served in a vaulted room of ample proportions 
leading into the garden. The windows were so small that the light 
it received from the outside was only that of the blazing sun reflected 
from the white sand. With the exception of the Princess Marie of 
Roumania, now the Queen of Roumania, the whole family was present. 

The Dowager Duchess, a daughter of Czar Alexander II of Russia, 
was a lady of generous proportions whose English abounded with 
the idiom which is so attractive a characteristic of the Russians and 
which they seem to retain in spite of their superior linguistic tal 
ents. Three of her four daughters were there, all of whom were so 
beautiful that it has never been decided which was really the hand- 


somest: Victoria Melitta, Grand Duchess of Hesse, who afterwards 
left the Dtike and married the Grand Duke Cyril of Russia; Alex 
andra, hereditary Princess of Hohenlohe Langenburg; and the 
then unmarried Princess Beatrice, who later married a member of 
the Spanish Court, a cousin of the present King, thereby incurring 
the displeasure of their mother as well as of the King of Spain, on 
account of their difference in religion. She was Protestant, while 
her husband was Catholic. 

Besides these there was the young Duke of Coburg, a son of the 
late Duke of Albany, who was the youngest of King Edward's 
brothers, and also the Princess Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein, 
daughter of Princess Christian, in honor of whose son's memory 
I was designing the memorial. 

The party was a happy one. The Grand Duchess was most 
amusing and always ready for a joke. Once at the luncheon table, 
she told one of her stories which was so funny that the servants 
could only with difficulty keep their serious expressions. When she 
noticed this, she and the others purposely continued to say laugh- 
provoking things until at last one of the servitors was compelled to 
place Ms dish on the sideboard, to regain his customary composure. 
They were all Russian guardsmen, each one a giant, whb had prob 
ably been in the royal service all their lives. As it was a hot sum 
mer's day and the life at Rosenau so informal, they were in all white 
uniforms, a most imposing sight. 

During my stay came the news of the death of Empress Freder 
ick, which threw nearly all the courts of Europe into deep mourning. 

The Duchess who was a great patron of music and especially 
of Bayreuth, where she was a regular attendant at the performances, 
offered me her tickets for Parsifal. I was to go with h$r chamber 
lain, H. de Vignau. To travel from Coburg to Bayreuth, although 
the distance as the crow flies is short, required considerable planning, 
on account of the side lines with poor connections which one had to 
use. We carefully studied the timetables and left early enough to 


Kingdon Gould 


arrive in good time, for it was a rigid rule that the instant the con 
ductor made his bow, the doors must be closed and no one, however 
exalted he might be, could be admitted before the end of the act. 

Everything went like clockwork until we arrived at a station 
where we were to take the branch line which would bring us to 
Bayreuth and found that this connection had been abolished, and 
was of course not noted on the old timetable. This was hard luck, 
but we did not give up. Upon consulting with the stationmaster 
we learned that the distance was not great, only a few miles away. 
When we asked him to provide a special train, he looked at us with 
astonishment and said, "Have you any idea what this will cost?" 
We confessed we had not. 

"It will cost you one hundred marks, paid in advance." 

We smiled at him, placed the money in his hands and urged him 
to hasten, which he did. He had no coach available, but he had 
an old engine such as they use in the stations for shifting. To this 
he attached a cattle car with two chairs, and off we went, as rapidly 
as the steam would carry us. We looked alternately out of the car 
and at our watches. The engine seemed to crawl and the watch 
hands to fly. There were only fifteen minutes left, and we began 
to resign ourselves. Under the most favorable circumstances we 
could not have done better than five minutes late. When we reached 
the station, a crowd had assembled, for it was already known that 
a special train was due, which could mean only Royalty or a multi 
millionaire. The way was clear, but on account of the crowd which 
followed us, we had to take a cab, although our watches told us it 
was useless to hurry now, as we were too late. 

But when we arrived the usher was just closing the doors and 
he let us slip in. By a most unusual and rare coincidence, the con 
ductor had been detained that day by an unavoidable accident 
which made him late too, an almost unheard-of occurrence, though 
much to our gratification and to the amusement of the royal guests 
when we reported it next day. 


"Man he seems of cheerful yesterdays and confident tomorrows." (Wordsworth.) 

fHE South African War. came to an end. With the 
defense of Ladysmith and Mafeking, England had 
proved that if she is called Bulldog, it is justly so 
as she has every claim to the title. In Generals she 
had added two names to the long list of her national 
heroes and her idols Sir George White and Baden Powell. 

Sir George White I first met when he was posing in my studio 
for a portrait which Lszl6 was painting by command of the Queen. 
His head in profile was even more interesting than full face. The 
features showed every indication of the ascetic life to which he was 
accustomed; deep, sunken eyes, a forceful aquiline nose and a de 
termined mouth, habitually used to command and to exact obedi 
ence. His skull was remarkable; in profile especially could be 
discerned the unusual amount of brain-space; and, as if the natural 
flow of contour were not enough, he bore on the top of his head an 
additional eminence. The enthusiasm after his return and the 
eagerness of the entire populace to entertain and f6te him was more 
than he cared for, and he often spoke of it as being so different from 
his hitherto rigid life. 

"Have you any suggestion as to the reverse side of the medal? 1 ' 
I asked him one day when I had nearly finished my medallion of 

"Yes," he replied, "I would like you to use my motto/' and he 
wrote on a slip of paper "Honeste Parta." 



Sir Robert Baden Powell did not so much mind the adulation 
which fell to him as his share. He even enjoyed it. It reminded 
me of the famous actress who instructed her secretary to read to 
her only those criticisms which were eulogistic. One day the secre 
tary said, "Do you still wish me to continue? Don't you tire of the 

" You have no idea/' she replied, " of the amount of praise one can 

When I moved to my new studio in Regent's Park I saw much 
of Sir Robert. He was a clever draftsman, quite an artist, and an 
amusing companion. The Commonwealth of Australia presented 
him with two saddle horses, a white and a black, splendid specimens. 
When the black one was no longer useful for the saddle he placed it 
in my care. At about this time, Countess Deym, the widow of the 
late Austrian Ambassador, made me a present of the hansom in which 
her husband used to drive about town. The two combined made 
an admirable turnout and enabled the horse to enjoy many easy and 
comfortable years. 


The more I worked in oil, the more fascinating it became. It 
seemed to fill a gap in my existence. Many orders for portraiture 
could not be so successfully executed in sculpture as in painting. 
The moment color is the dominant factor, clay, marble and bronze 
cease to be the correct media, and if an artist employs them in these 
circumstances, it is only because he is not able to do otherwise. 
Fortunately, I was no longer compelled to do this, and soon was 
making a clear distinction among my sitters as to whom to portray 
in the one and whom in the other medium. Two commissions which 
I had on hand were manifestly problems of color. One was that of 
Maud Ashley, the very attractive daughter of Sir Ernest Cassel; 
the other, the Marquis de Soveral, who was the Portuguese Minis 
ter to the Court of St. James's. He was favored of the gods not 
good-looking, but different from anybody else. His face was nearly 


as round as a billiard ball and the few remaining hairs on his head 
were carefully parted. He had bushy eyebrows and wore a heavy 
moustache, most punctiliously turned up, and an imperial, all of 
which were jet-black. His cheeks were shaved, but the hair-growth 
was so strong that it gave his skin a bluish tinge, which earned him 
the nick-name of "blue monkey." He was an amusing and keen 
witted man. 

One night when he was dining at the house of Sir Ernest Cassel, 
the financier, who shared equally in the friendship of the King, 
His Majesty was present and suddenly called across the table: 

''Last night I saw the revival of Oscar Wilde's Importance of 
Being in Earnest. Do you know it, Soveral?" 

"No, Sir," was the reply, "but I know the importance of being 
Sir Ernest. 15 

A party without him seemed incomplete. He was equally at 
home in Sandringham, at Windsor, Sunderland, Devonshire or Dor 
chester House. When the father of the present King of Portugal 
came on a visit to London, Several gave several parties at the Lega 
tion which were the talk of the town. At one of these, a dinner, 
the King made him a marquis. Shortly after this, a relative died 
and left him a fortune. 

When I commenced his portrait, the question of uppermost 
importance was dress; he was known as one of the best-dressed 
men in London. Men's clothing seems so simple that it was as 
tounding what an infinite variety he achieved in frockcoats, light 
waistcoats, ties and spats. We went through his wardrobe to make 
the final selection and the quantity of suits it contained seemed incred 
ible, veritably an embarrassment of riches. 

The first pose he assumed was so characteristic of the man that 
I promptly adopted it. He was seated in a chair with his legs crossed 
and his hands resting upon one of his countless canes which, in this 
instance, was the King's latest Christmas gift and was crowned by 
an immense lapis lazuli. In his right hand he held the ubiquitous 


" / Maiden Meditation " 


cigar, the size and quality of which was rivaled only by the King's 
own brand. The Duchess of Manchester, whose brother owned 
plantations in Cuba, arranged that they should both be supplied 
with the best cigars to be procured. 

During his sittings there was never lack of company; visitors 
were so many that I was vividly reminded of Velasquez* immortal 
Las Meninas. As a natural consequence, criticism started with 
almost the first stroke of the brush. It was an easy way to show 
one's deep interest, friendship and devotion to the sitter, quite indif 
ferent as to the feelings of the artist. Luckily, he was too well accus 
tomed to such fulsome praise to have it affect his equilibrium, and 
he continued his regular and intelligent sittings, thus enabling me 
to make a good likeness of him. 

Maud Cassel was the only daughter of Sir Ernest. The story of 
his life reads like another fairy tale. 

He came to London when still a boy, and entered the banking 
house of Bischoffsheim and Company in an insignificant capacity. 
There he soon gave evidence of extraordinary ability and he ad 
vanced rapidly. One day the house was confronted with a difficult 
situation, the handling of which presented seemingly insuperable 
obstacles to all. Young Cassel suggested a solution which appeared 
to be feasible, and was entrusted with the task. Having accom 
plished it successfully to the complete satisfaction of his superiors, 
he was called into the office and informed: 

"We are entirely satisfied with the manner in which you have 
discharged this undertaking and, as an indication of our apprecia 
tion, we have decided to raise your salary to five hundred pounds. " 

Young Cassel calmly replied, "I suppose you mean five thousand 

Whereupon everyone looked with astonishment at everyone else, 
but Mr. Bischoffsheim retorted just as calmly and promptly: " Yes, 

sir. 11 

He was soon made a partner in the concern, but the flight of 


his imagination probably soared too high and his vision was too 
magnificent for them to follow; so they parted and he went into his 
own business. In a modest three-room office, his transactions em 
braced the whole globe. He negotiated for railroads in the most 
inaccessible parts of Sweden, Russia, Mexico; with Baron Hirsch, 
whose firm friend he was, he planned the complete system of rail 
roads for Turkey and Anatolia. Loans of such magnitude were 
arranged that even the Rothschilds would have considered twice 
before entertaining them. No proposal was too big for Ernest 
Cassel. His name became a magic word in the world of finance. 

One day so the story goes, a man approached Lord Rothschild with 
a scheme for the irrigation of the Nile Valley country. Since the days 
of the Pharaohs similar projects have been promoted. The Nile, like 
any other stream, is dependent for its water supply upon the moods of 
Dame Nature. Some years there is such an abundance that the banks 
overflow. In other years the drought causes a catastrophe equally dis 
astrous. If only the supply might be regulated, it was believed that 
Egypt would know such an era of prosperity as only one's wildest 
dreams can conceive. This man, then, was received by Lord Roths 
child who, after hearing his plan, said sarcastically, with a shrug of his 

"Such fantastic ideas find encouragement only with Ernest 

The man probably did not even know at that time who Ernest 
Cassel was, but he soon learned. Cassel listened to him and asked 
him to leave his papers for him to study, promising to return them 
in a few days, which he did. Then Cassel chartered a steamer and 
invited on a trip to Egypt a party of friends, financiers and others, 
including Sir George Baker, the famous engineer who built the bridge 
over the Firth of Forth, and Sir John Aird the contractor. 

And while his friends enjoyed themselves, he spent his time 
investigating and planning and calculating. A few years later, this 
problem, which had baffled the engineering world for centuries, 


was solved by the genius of one individual. And as was predicted, 
irrigation brought untold riches to the country. The cotton crops 
each year were uniform; the value of the land rose accordingly; and 
it would not be surprising to know that, in spite of his fabulous 
wealth, old Rothschild regretted he had not been a bit more gen 
erous with his time and attention when the little, unknown man 
laid before him the product of his fertile mind. 

Ernest Cassel had many admirable qualities, the most important 
of which was his ability to remain silent. Every man knew he could 
go to Sir Ernest and confide his most precious secrets with the know 
ledge that they were buried, never to come to life again through any 
act of Sir Ernest's. He was lavishly generous and always headed 
any subscription list for a worthy cause. 

For years he was in charge of the King's financial affairs, even 
while he was still Prince of Wales. He could be the best of good 
friends, but also he had his dislikes and in these instances he knew 
how to express them. 

He lived in Grosvenor Square when I first started to work for 
him on his medallion and a marble bust for his daughter. Later he 
bought Brooke House, in Park Lane, from Lord Tweedmouth and 
redecorated it actually, he rebuilt it until it became one of the 
showplaces of the town. The entrance hall was in blue marble 
from a quarry which had just been discovered in Canada, and this 
was the first of it, to be used. It resembled lapis lazuli, so the effect 
may be visualized. 

The house contained an abundance of the rarest pictures. At 
about the time when he moved into the new house, he learned that 
Arthur Davis, one of the South African mining magnates, was in 
difficulties and was compelled to sell his collection, which contained 
choice Romneys and Reaburns, obtained before collecting had 
become the fashion and while he still had a wide choice. And he 
chose well. Sir Ernest (as he was since the Queen's Jubilee) bought 
up the entire collection, which appeared to far greater advantage 


in Brooke House than it could have in Davis' flat in St. James 

During the racing seasons, twice a year, Moulton Paddocks, his 
house at Newmarket, was the scene of many notable parties. The 
King dined there often as well as in the town house. 

His daughter Maud was the most sympathetic and delightful of 
women, absolutely unspoiled and with a full understanding of the 
needs and feelings of others, perhaps partly due to the fact that 
she herself had been a sufferer for much of her short life. Her hus 
band was Wilfred Ashley, of the Shaftesbury family, and a member 
of Parliament. The marriage was an ideally happy one and she 
bore him two children, both girls, the elder of whom, Edvina, recently 
married Lord Mountbatten (a grandson of Queen Victoria) and last 
year visited the " States " with him. 

Many artists were permitted to work for Mrs. Ashley, for she 
was devoted to art. Lszl6 and Zorn painted portraits of her, the 
better of which was that done by Zorn, and I likewise was granted 
this privilege, and made the bust of her as well. Alas! Like Lady 
Alice Montagu, her visit to this world was of but short duration and, 
in the prime of life, she left it. Her husband had a memorial placed 
in Rumsey Cathedral which he asked me to design. The group 
represents a woman seated on a cenotaph with a child on either side, 
whom she has taken into her protecting arms. Above is a medallion 
of Mrs. Ashley with the inscription: 

Once didst thou shine a morning star among the living; 
Now, no more, thou shinest an evening star among the dead. 

The physician who cared for Mrs. Ashley as a child was Sir 
Felix Semon, a friend of her father, Sir Ernest Cassd, He was a 
throat specialist, esteemed as one of the best in his profession and 
consulted by Queen Victoria and the other members of the Royal 
Family. In a conspicuous position in his office a table had been 
placed containing a mighty array of photographs of royalties as well 

Mrs. Courtlandt Nicoll 

Mrs. Henry Clews, Jr. 


as of celebrities of the stage and the opera, each inscribed with a 
flattering dedication to the physician. His wife was a singer of talent, 
a pupil of the famous George Henschel, who himself sang with much 
sentiment and understanding. Sir Felix was socially ambitious and 
he and Lady Semon could be seen at all the first nights, big concerts 
and public dinners of importance. He was an excellent after-dinner 
speaker and had a remarkable memory for funny stories. Often when 
he was called for attention to the King's throat which troubled him 
sometimes as a result of excessive smoking, he took occasion to repeat 
the latest jokes, to the keen amusement of those who happened to be 
present. One day he regaled the King and the Duke of Connaught 
with some of these stories, which were particularly funny and were met 
with roars of laughter. Emboldened by their reception, he ventured to 
tell of an incident at the Queen's Jubilee, when she raised one of the 
professors of the medical college to the rank of Physician in Ordi 
nary to the Queen. The man was exceedingly vain and anxious that 
everyone should know of the event, so when he entered the lecture- 
room he took a piece of chalk and under his name he wrote his new 
title. After the lecture, when he was leaving, he turned again at 
the door for a last, proud look, and saw that someone had added 
"God save the Queen." This story was harmless enough in itself, 
but not a muscle of the faces of his listeners so much as quivered, 
and Sir Felix discovered himself in a painful extremity. He bowed 
himself out and for some time his services at Court were dispensed 
with. Poor Sir Felix was much distressed but he was helpless to 
change matters, until one day Sir Ernest took occasion to tell the 
King that Sir Felix was slowly fading away with grief; so the King 
sent for him and forgave him. But he had had a useful lesson which 
served him for the future. 

This little story reminds me of another which I hope is not too 
generally known to bear repetition. This occurred at Balmoral. 
After dinner, while Queen Victoria was conversing with an ambas 
sador, her attention was drawn to a far corner where her gentlemen- 


and ladies-in-waiting were assembled and from whence floated 
repeated outbursts of suppressed laughter, in which the Queen felt 
she would like to participate; so she inquired what it was all about. 
Dead silence. Again she asked the question. One of the ladies-in- 
waiting stepped forward and explained the little joke which, though 
also quite as harmless as that of Sir Felix, was not what the Queen 
had expected. With a stern face she announced, "We are not 
amused. " 

One of the most prominent women of that time was Lady Jetuxe, 
the wife of Sir Francis Jeune, President of Probate, Divorce and Ad 
miralty Division, later better known as Lord and Lady St. Helier. 
Their house in Upper Wimpole Street was the rendezvous for many 
illustrious people, mostly in public life. One might call Lady St. 
Helier a Political Hostess. Her daughter, a really handsome girl, 
assisted her admirably at her receptions, and afterward married that 
Saint John Broderick so well known in Parliament and, later, as Sec 
retary of State for War and for India. The marble bust I made of her 
husband has been permanently placed in the Law Courts. 

Lady Jeuae's sister Julia, Marchioness of Tweeddale (who exer 
cised her prerogative to this title only by courtesy, even after her 
marriage to Sir William Eden Evans-Gordon), was also actively en 
gaged in politics but lacked that subtlety possessed by her sister. It 
would seem that her one political achievement was the bringing about 
of her husband's election to Parliament. She must have learned from 
her sister the benefits of extensive hospitality. Her dinner parties were 
far too large for the size of her dining room and she gathered together 
all sorts of people. The present John Pierpont Morgan was a guest 
at one of these crowded dinners and smiled good-naturedly at the 
efforts of the servants to squeeze through the small remaining space. 

There was no comparison between the culinary offerings of the 
Marchioness and what one might confidently expect at the Bischoff- 
sheim house in Park Lane, or in their country place, "Warren House," 
near Stanmore, where the viands approached the last word in gas- 


tronomic creations. Mrs. Bischoffsheim modified the, probably to 
her, slightly more vulgar saying, to " The way to people's hearts 
leads through their throats." She understood better than many 
hostesses the way to make her guests happy, the secret being to leave 
them to their own devices. Some played golf, while others motored 
or went on long walks with kindred spirits, or sat at cards the entire 
day. Mrs. Bischoffsheim stipulated only that they return for meals. 

I knew one councillor of the Austrian Embassy, Count B , who, 

even after his transfer to Constantinople, spent his vacations at the 
"fleshpots," except that he preferred Stanmore's to those of Babylon, 
for which no one could possibly blame him. 

It was at Stanmore that I first met Prince Francis of Teck, the 
brother of Queen Mary, probably the handsomest man I have ever 
seen. In all my recollection there was only one other who could 
compare with him and that was the late Archduke Otto of Austria, 
the heir presumptive to the crown. Prince Francis was not only 
good to look at but was a most agreeable man to meet. Absolutely 
democratic, he lived the life of a private gentleman in his flat in the 
Marylebone section and, as may be inferred, was the most popular 
bachelor in London. His interest in art brought him often to my 
studio and, in his spare moments, he would sometimes pose for me. 
I thought it a great pity not to preserve those manly features for 
the future. When he died, quite unexpectedly, Queen Mary asked 
to see the unfinished portrait, and bought it. Fortunately the face 
was done and work on the hands sufficiently far advanced so that the 
picture could be completed without much trouble. 


"Kind hearts are more than coronets." (Tennyson.) 

N April 22, 1901, I received the following note from 

Sir Arthur Ellis: 


The King wishes you to come with me on Thursday 
next by twelve o'clock midday train from St. Pancras to Sandringham, for 
one night, to go over the question of the Church monuments, etc., and I 
am desired to let you know this. 

His Majesty had expressed the wish to erect a memorial to the 
late Queen, for which a space was to be cleared, and it was decided 
that all that part at the left of the altar should be reserved for the 
purpose, as this memorial would be more important than those which 
would remain. 

When all these details had been settled, the King invited me to 
stroll with him in the grounds. In the course of our walk he turned 
suddenly to me and said: 

"I would like to speak to you about the Coronation medal. The 
time is approaching when the matter will have to be given consid 
eration. Have you any views on the subject?" 

"I have, Sir/ 1 said I. "A few days ago while visiting Sir Arthur, 
I happened to notice a plain bronze medal which Napoleon the Great 
had arranged to have issued from St. Helena after his death to his 
former generals, the poetry of which impressed me: i Napoleon, to 




his companions in glory, his last thoughts from St. Helena/ It bore 
the date of his death, May 5th, 1 82 1 . A wreath of laurels was around 
its border. This seemed a little heavy for the medal itself, but should 
Your Majesty approve of the idea, I should be happy to submit designs 
of what I have in mind/' 


This was my first intimation that the King wanted me to design 
the Coronation medal. I was commissioned also to make sketches 
and drawings for medals for Art, Science and Music, all to bear 
on the obverse the image of the King and Queen. In fact, the year 
1901 brought me a great volume of work for my royal master. In 
addition to all this sculpture I made two memorials of Empress 
Frederick who died that September one for Sandringham and one 
for Balmoral; and also a bust of Queen Victoria for Balmoral. 

For the Coronation medal I had sittings from both their Majes 
ties during the spring and summer. The reverse was to be plain, 
with only the initials "E.R. VII." This medal was accepted just 
as I submitted it. The border was composed of a delicately formed 
wreath of laurel surmounted by a crown, through the cross of which 
ran the ring to which the ribbon (dark blue with a purple stripe 


through the center and two white stripes at the end) was attached. 
The demand for a coronation medal to be sold to the public became 
so universal that the firm of Elkington, who looked after the strik 
ing and finishing of the official medal, asked and obtained permission 
from the King to issue one for which they were allowed to use 
my portraits reversed that is, they faced right instead of left. 
The wreath around the border and the crown were omitted. This 
medal gave me a chance at a more elaborate reverse side, although 
naturally it had to be treated more or less conventionally. I depicted 
Britannia resting on her shield ornamented with the royal arms, 
with Westminster Abbey in the distance. 

This popular medal was to be issued in different sizes in gold, 
silver, copper and even tin and sold throughout the United Kingdom 
and in the Colonies. Schools would offer it for prizes; some of the 
gold specimens would be inserted in cups or plates to make distinc 
tive and valuable gifts. Up to the time when it was announced that 
the Coronation would be postponed on account of the illness of the 
King, about 950,000 had been sold and, at the last moment, 40,000 
were cancelled. 

The medal for Art, Science and Music gave me excellent scope 
for the reverse. I had a free hand for the design and the one ac 
cepted was of three figures grouped around a fountain of truth and 
beauty, from which they drew their inspiration. 

The medallion of Queen Victoria for Sandringham Church was 
somewhat larger than the others and was supported by the figures 
of two angels. When the legend for the inscription was submitted, 
the King altered the wording, the autograph of which I reproduce 


During the month preceding his coronation, the King's duties 
pressed so heavily that those immediately about him wondered how 
he managed to survive the tax upon his energies. But in spite of it 
all, he took the keenest interest in the progress of the memorial to 
his mother. 

When the day of the coronation approached, I received the 
official invitation to attend the ceremonies in the Abbey; but what 
immeasurably touched me was this note from Miss Knollys on June 


The Queen thinks you may like to have one of her tickets for the Tri- 
forium in the Abbey for the Coronation. 

In greatest haste. 

In consequence of which I believe I was one of few who could boast 
of having two tickets for this rare and impressive ceremony. 

One day, while painting Maud Ashley at her home, she received 
the call of Lord and Lady Normanton, whose country seat was in 
Somerley near Ringwood in Hampshire, where they spent the major 
part of the year. My portraits pleased them to the extent that 
they asked me to paint some for them, too. Subsequently I went 
down to prepare for my work there. Somerley comprised an estate 
of several thousand acres with an imposing manor in stone which 
closely approached the Italian, renaissance ia design. It was built 
by the father of the present peer who filled it with many beautiful 
pieces of furniture, china and silver, but took especial pride in his 
picture collection, which was so large and important that the walls 
of the Gallery he added to the house for the purpose were covered 
to the ceilings with paintings. He possessed the chiaroscuros for 
the window of the New College Chapel at Oxford by Reynolds, as 
well as his Miss Falconer by Moonlight. He had a large Sir Thomas 
Lawrence and a Constable, several Gainsboroughs, Guardis and Can- 


alettos. Each article of furniture in this vast gallery had been 
selected with infinite patience and understanding and without regard 
to the cost. The present peer married a Miss Byng of the Strafford 
family, and she guarded all these treasures with jealous pride. She 
it was who, wishing to add to the group of ancestors, had invited me 
down to paint the Earl. The light coming into the gallery from 
the top changed throughout the day with the sun, which made it 
impossible to work there, inspiring as such a studio would have been; 
but conditions in the billiard room were better and, as it was little 
used, I painted there. 

The generous permission accorded to inspect the pictures and 
art objects attracted many visitors. One day while I was working, 
Mrs. Herbert Asquith came over with a party from a neighboring 
estate and, after having made a tour of the house and gallery, came 
to have a look at the portrait. The sitter and Lady Normanton 
welcomed an opinion from so keenly critical an eye, trained among 
the priceless pictures of her father, Sir Charles Tennant. She cast 
a cursory glance at it and remarked to the cMtelaine : 

"Why don't you have your husband's portrait painted by a real 

On September fifteenth I received this note from Balmoral: 


The King desires me to say that he should be glad if you could come here 
on Saturday next (leaving London on Friday evening), so that he may be 
able to discuss with you the designs of Craithie Church memorials. 

Yours very truly, 


The two memorials in question were to Queen Victoria and to 
Empress Frederick; the first a bust, to be placed in a niche cut in 
one of the monumental granite columns, and the other a medallion. 

Balmoral Castle in Aberdeenshire (Scotland) belonged originally 
to the Gordons and then to the Farquharsons; it went afterwards 

A Study in Blue and Gold 

The Lady in Blue 


to the Fifes, the last male descendant of whom was the Duke of 
Fife, who married Louise, daughter of King Edward. Balmoral was 
bought by the Prince Consort in 1852 and it was the favorite home of 
the Queen. They built the castle of granite in Norman style and 
completed it in 1856. The approaching visitor is greeted by the sight 
of the big tower with its snow-white turrets many miles distant. It 
is surrounded by mountains which protect it from the sudden on 
slaughts of an inclement climate. The interior is decorated with 
dignified simplicity and an eye to comfort rather than luxury, though 
this may have been only the impression produced by the general eS ect 
on me. 

I spent most of my days preparing a series of rough sketches so 
as to have them in readiness for the King when he should arrive- 
There was a large house party including the Prince and Princess 
of Wales; Count Mensdorff of the Austrian Embassy; Sir Michael 
Herbert, British Ambassador to the United States, and Lady Her 
bert, who was a Miss Wilson of New York; Reuben D. Sassoon, the 
noted sportsman and friend of the King; Sir James Reid, private 
physician to Queen Victoria; Lord Mount Edgcumbe; Lord Fax- 
quhar and his deputy, Sir Charles Frederick and Eduardo de Mar- 
tino, marine painter, who was a favorite with the Royal Family and 
was often invited. Whenever the King went on a yachting trip or 
to Cowes de Martino was asked. His art being so limited in scope, 
the King's entourage would buy his marines or have him paint pic 
tures of their yachts. Lipton was one of those firm friends "who 
make salt sweet and blackness bright. " Although slightly paralyzed, 
de Martino was always in good spirits and full of fun, always drawing 
little marines on the menus with a few well chosen lines, which he 
would present to a fair neighbor, adding a gallant phrase. 

The night after my arrival, before going in to dinner the Royal 
Family held their usual little circle. I was standing somewhat at a 
distance, unobtrusively, when I noticed that the King, while address 
ing someone in front of me, had fixed his glance on my coat. Before 


I could investigate to learn the cause of it, he called me to him and 
inquired why I did not wear the Coronation medaL I had to admit 
that I had received none. At this moment, the doors were thrown 
open and the party proceeded into the dining room. It was rec 
tangular, as was the table. The guests numbered thirty-five or 
forty. The King sat at the center with the Princess of Wales on 
his right, while opposite sat the Prince of Wales with the Queen 
beside him. There were more gentlemen than ladies so that de 
Martino and I found ourselves together at the end of the table. 

After we were seated a party of bagpipers entered, gaudily 
dressed in their Scottish kilts, and, playing their weird airs, marched 
three times around the table quite an impressive ceremony. 

The favorite dish of the evening seemed to be marrowbones, of 
a size such as I had never seen before. They were served daintily 
wrapped in napkins tied with ribbon. The marrow had been de 
tached from the bone and replaced in it, and was eaten with spe 
cially made spoons with long handles. They seemed to delight 
everyone. De Martino too thoroughly enjoyed his and had scarcely 
finished when a servant placed before him a huge dish of spaghetti. 
Poor de Martino ! He nearly fainted. At first he did not know what 
to do, but when he saw the King looking at him and smiling, he had 
to smile too and tackle his unwelcome course. Fortunately I alone 
heard his comments in Italian and was glad, because they were not 
suitable for everyone's ears. 

This most considerate attention the King wished to pay him was 
not quite fully appreciated because de Martiao, ignorant of the sur 
prise in store for him, had helped himself twice to the marrowbones 
which, in view of their size, was a brave undertaking. 

Next morning the King sent for me rather early and, before dis 
cussing the program of the day, he handed me a case containing 
the Coronation medal, saying, "I am sorry you should have been 
overlooked; it was an oversight and besides," with a twinkle in his 
eye, "you ought to have one since it is your own work." That 


evening at dinner, the other guests wore their miniature decorations 
which is the correct thing to do when in civilian clothes, and I blazed 
forth with my large medal, by Royal command, but not in accord 
ance with my own wishes. 

During this short visit, I crowded all I could into my sketch 
book of portraits of the notables present, who I am sure must have 
heaved a sigh of relief when I left. 

There was an abundance of commissions for portraits, far exceed 
ing my fondest expectations. They averaged twenty paintings to 
one single bust, and that probably of someone already departed. 
Not seldom had I to do the portrait in painting when I felt the sub 
ject was an excellent one for sculpture and so informed the sitter. 
But portraiture in sculpture somewhat resembles the taste for an 
oyster, in that both are acquired, except that so far the oyster still 
seems to have the preference. When people once learn to appre 
ciate the difficulties represented by a likeness in marble or bronze 
and the art in it when it is a success, then I am confident this method 
will be more generally patronized. As to the difficulties a face on 
canvas presents only one view which, if lifelike, is all that is expected 
of it. But a portrait "in the round" is a multiplicity of present 
ments from all angles. How frequent it is that the artist can obtain 
a good likeness in profile when the bust would be hopelessly unlike 
in full face, or the contrary; which explains why patronage is denied 
to sculpture. The risk of failure is too obvious. In this branch of 
art there is no possibility of impressionism. The few attempts to 
introduce such practices have proved their fallacies. Those master 
pieces of portraiture which gave to Rodin his name and just fame 
were his early works, on which he spent extreme care and time to 
finish them with that incomparable skill in caressing the marble, 
which he understood better than almost any other sculptor. When, as 
in later years, he left most of it in the rough, Nature's divine hand 
was infinitely greater and preferable. One look at his Balzac will 
illustrate my meaning. 


Some time ago I visited an exhibition of portrait sculpture by a 
man well-known here and abroad, all executed in that school which 
attempts to express boldness by indistinctness and slurring. To 
employ the chisel for an impression of sketchiness seems to me like 
speeding in a Rolls-Royce over a country road filled with cobble 
stones. Sketching is an art. It is the gift of expressing with a few 
well-defined strokes a hasty impression; and if each of these strokes 
testifies to the mastery of the artist, the sketch often stirs the imag 
ination by its freshness and spontaneity to a greater degree than 
the finished work. But to look at a sketch by a dauber is like hav 
ing to read a sentence with every word misspelled. 

Some of my sitters of that early period were Mr. and Mrs. Mo- 
berly BelL Mr. Bell was the assistant manager of the Times, a big man 
in stature and in mind. His head was large with an aquiline nose, a 
firm mouth and a bold forehead. I enjoyed painting him, although 
I wished myself sufficiently advanced in my technique to let myself 
go as I did in black and white. His wife's portrait presented those 
problems which confront each painter who tries to portray feminine 
beauty in its maturer form, without adding to his palette the two 
essential colors known as kindness and consideration. This pic 
ture was not appreciated by the family and forms part of my own 
collection. I console myself with the reflection that even the re 
nowned Sir Joshua was not spared the disappointment of finding 
that some of his sitters saw themselves with "that inward eye" 
which differed so materially from his own. 

An amusing old fellow was Martin Colnaghi, the picture dealer 
from Pall Mall. He was a type; small, nearly eighty years old, 
but as agile as a lizard; longish hair curled over his ears, full white 
beard and moustache; and tiny eyes which saw far more than one 
supposed. He had a remarkable flair for old masters and bought 
up Franz Hals canvases long before they began to be coveted. In 
fact,\ ^after he had accumulated them, he also understood how to 
arrange for their distribution. I considered it a compliment that 

The Call from the Beyond 

The Group 
" Where Strength and Tenderness Unite, there Sound the Truest Harmonies " 


he should have cared to pose for me, and a greater still that the pic 
ture should have been purchased by a client of his, who took it to 
Germany with the intention of presenting it to a museum. If this 
was ever done, the echo of its report has not yet reached my listen 
ing ears. 

With our new enterprises, there are always critics galore those 
kind friends who are so concerned for our welfare that they will 
stop at nothing to save us from failure and ridicule, for which they 
feel certain we are destined. They are the same friends who will be 
the first to welcome us into their outstretched aims if those pre 
dicted failures should turn out successes. 

It is far from my intention to give the impression that I was one 
of those overwhelming successes. But once started on a clearly de 
fined path, I persistently followed it, so far without regret. And my 
failures have been useful in teaching me what to avoid the next time. 
But in art, as in other walks of life, one has to go on satisfied with 
the happiness which every branch of creative occupation offers in 
such abundance and with the knowledge that when the time comes 
that final judgment is pronounced, however adverse it may be, we 
will at least be spared from hearing the decision. 

But I must admit that I was filled with joy and pride and a 
world of courage when, in the spring of 1903, the King commissioned 
me to paint his portrait, which was to be presented to his German 
regiment, of which he was the honorary colonel, for their messroom. 
He offered me a studio in Buckingham Palace, where it would be 
easier for him to give the necessary sittings. His valet brought 
the uniform and decorations, and initiated me into their intri 
cacies. But the uniform was of German origin; the sleeves were 
broad and clumsy and did not fit properly. Therefore the King 
suggested that Mr. French of Meyer and Mortimer, his tailors, come 
and look at them and recommend the changes needed. 

Mr. French came promptly to criticize and criticism it was! 
After he saw my poor sleeves, he left not a shred of them. I had to 


paint them over and over again. They gave me almost more work 
than the rest of the portrait, because in his officiousness he took his 
task too seriously and the suggestion to criticize too literally. How 
I did wish that he would accept me as a customer of his so that I 
might have my little revenge! 

Morgan Medal (reverse) 


"Pride in their port, defiance in their eye." (Goldsmith.) 

| AY, the month of the opening of the Academy, saw the 
King's portrait not quite finished. It is a long-estab- 
Eshed custom that the Royal Family selects an evening 
to visit the Academy privately and undisturbed. As 
a matter of courtesy, the council, headed by the 
president, assembles to receive its Royal guests and accompany them 
through the galleries. On these occasions their Majesties invite 
such of their friends whom they wish to honor in this manner. That 
particular morning I had a sitting with the King who, before leaving, 
handed me a ticket and said: 

" We are going to the Academy after dinner at about nine o'clock. 
Will you please use this ticket? " 

I bowed and thanked him, but during the day could think of 
little else. Knowing that since the incident of the postage stamps, 
I was persona ingratissima with the Royal Academy, which I could 
hardly explain to the King, I did not foresee an especially agreeable 
meeting. Nor were my misgivings unfounded. Almost appre 
hensively 1 presented my ticket at about a quarter to nine o'clock 
at the landing to the big staircase, at the other end of which waited 
in nervous suspense Sir Edward Poynter, in his presidential robes 
with the chain, and the other members of the council. The outpost 
in gold-braided uniform inquired my name, which he reported to 
the group above. Consternation was noticeable, even at a dis 
tance. But there was my ticket and my name, two indisputable 



facts; and I was bidden to go up. The president bowed most for 
mally to me; if the others did the same, it was imperceptibly. Sir 
Edward obviously considered this an inopportune occasion for pre 
senting me to them. Sir George Frampton, whom I had met at the 
house of Lady Lewis, was present in his official capacity as a mem 
ber of the council and came to shake hands with me, which was the 
extent of our conversation. Meanwhile the president and his council 
had retired to another position. 

The next arrival was Sir Arthur Ellis, who was not long in dis 
covering and appreciating the humor of the situation. Here was 
I, a guest of the Academy, so to speak, left to myself in a remote 
corner where I had to seek refuge in order to protect myself from the 
chilling atmosphere which surrounded me. He joined me and we 
went together to behold the exhibits pending the arrival of the 

With the appearance of the King, all was changed. With that 
exquisite savoir faire which was his own, he brought life into the 
assemblage. He spoke to everyone and, of course, made no excep 
tion of me. The Queen and Princess Victoria and their retinue all 
showed me greater consideration than did my fellow artists. When 
the visit came to an end and the Royal party had taken leave of 
the proud Academicians, I felt tempted to say to the president what 
a witty actress said once after a dinner to Hans Makart, known for 
his taciturnity, who had neglected her during the whole meal, "Now, 
Professor, let's talk of something else." 

Not all artists took such an attitude toward me. The Royal Society 
of British Artists, of which Whistler was a former president, invited 
me to become a member, and I was happy to accept. The Langham 
Artists' Society also elected me into their Council and I can recall 
many pleasant hotirs spent with them. Even a few Royal Academi 
cians kept up an intercourse which one should imagine to be nat 
ural among a community of artists. One of these was Alma-Tadema, 
known for his true fellowship. No artist was to him too small to 

Mrs. Edmund C. Randolph 

Mrs. Anthony J. Drexel y Jr. 
When Marjorie Gould 


extend his outstretched hand to. His studio was only a short 
distance from mine and sometimes on his way to town he would 
drop in. 

He was rather a short man with a large head; his hair and beard, 
which had been golden, had turned almost completely gray. Always 
amiable, jovial and happy he was liked by everyone. His art was 
then at the height of its appreciation and at about this time he 
sold one of his pictures for twelve and another for eighteen thousand 
pounds, which contrasted sharply with the prices obtained by other 
immortals. His house in Grove End Road was one of the sights of 
London, probably even unique in the world. The studio was pan 
eled in light wood richly carved; the ceilings coated with silver 
toned down to an agreeable gray. The furniture had all been de 
signed by himself. There were seats along the walls like Grecian 
benches. There were vases, urns and colored glass in profusion. 
Beautiful tissues, from the daintiest gauze to the heaviest bro 
cades richly interwoven with threads of gold and silver, lay about 

From the studio, three steps of highly polished bronze led to a 
Httle atrium or cortile, in the center of which was a sunken basin 
lined with colorful mosaic, the same material with which the floor 
was laid out. At night this room was illuminated only by concealed 
lighting; and in the daytime the rays filtered through the colored 
glass windows lent it all that effect of Oriental richness which is 
the dominant note of Tadema's pictures. Here were the oleander 
trees with their blossoms of red or pink, which he liked so much to 
introduce into his paintings and so offset the cold whites of his 
marbles. A door of solid bronze, also highly polished, separated his 
studio from the rest of the house; it led immediately to a smaller 
semi-circled space, one half of it paneled in white wood, while 
the other half formed a sort of conservatory leading into the 
garden. These panels were covered with pictures, the offerings of his 
host of artist friends, and included a Sargent, Solomon, Poynter, 


Boughton, Seymour Lucas, J. J. Shannon, Luke Fildes, a Mesdag, 
and many others. Through this miniature gallery one reached 
the dining room, richly furnished in carved oak, with old Dutch 
silver on the sideboards and shelves. The intimates of the house 
were also permitted a glimpse of Lady Tadema's studio on the first 
floor, a Dutch room with a high studio window, filled with a hundred 
and one articles of bric-d-brac, for the accumulation of which I 
should fancy that her friends were responsible. 

Theirs was a happy family and a large one, too, because all their 
many friends claimed the Tademas for themselves. Once a week 
they would assemble there to feast the eye and delight the ear. It 
was one of the few places where Paderewski would voluntarily sit 
at the piano and caress the keys with his magic touch. The instru 
ment was a masterpiece both as to quality of tone and decoration. 
The case was of carved rosewood in harmony with the furniture, 
and embodied those pure classical lines that appealed so strongly 
to Alma-Tadema. The cover bore affectionate dedications from 
Paderewski and those other artists who, unable to honor the host 
with palette or chisel, brought their musical offerings. 

After the death of Tadema the family endeavored to dispose of the 
house in its entirety and it is a pity this could not have been done 
successfully, instead of its contents being sold piece by piece and once 
more scattered over the globe in all directions, to return perhaps 
whence they had originally been brought to form the treasure house 
of a reveler in colors. 

Alma-Tadema's house was in the art colony to the north, in St. 
John's Wood, the colony to the south being in Chelsea. Both har 
bored great men, whose presence has made history and fame for 
those suburbs. Chelsea was more densely built up and on lower 
ground than St. John's Wood, which is on a higher, open plain, 
where every home has still its small garden, which is such a com 
fort to those who are compelled to remain in town throughout the 
year. Most of my friends were in the northern colony. Not all of 


them were artists. One of them was Dr. Ludwig Mond whose house 
was quite near to mine. 

I had known Dr. Mond since my early days in Rome. Like 
Sir Ernest Cassel, he was a self-made man. Both came to England 
from the Rhine province in their youth to seek better opportunities 
than Germany held for them. Mond was a chemist and perfected 
a process of manufacturing soda which made him rich at a time 
when he could indulge his love for the old masters whose works were 
then still at his bidding. He spent his winters in Italy, especially 
in Rome, and each year added to his representative collection which, 
now that his widow has passed away, has reverted to the National 
Gallery. It contains an early Raphael, two Botticellis and a Titian 
today priceless treasures. In the assembling of his gallery he 
sought the advice and counsel of Doctor Richter, an accredited 
authority, whose daughter is now a member of the scientific staff 
of the Metropolitan Museum. With such a man to guide him, Doc 
tor Mond was spared many of the pitfalls and disappointments now 
adays so frequently encountered by collectors. 

His son Alfred, later Sir Alfred Mond, became a pillar of the Liberal 
Party and was Commissioner of Works under Lloyd George the same 
position which Lulu (Lewis) Harcourt held before in the Asquith 

The latter was ideally suited for the position. He had love for art 
and understanding too. From the beginning of our acquaintance I 
had done work for him and his family. It was through him that I 
came to know the Sheridans, his cousins, whose mother was a daugh 
ter of the eminent historian, Motley. He brought Mrs. Sheridan, 
Senior (the mother-in-law of Clare Sheridan), to my studio and I de 
signed for her a memorial to her two departed sons, which was placed 
in the little church at Frampton. 

During the early days of the World War, when I found myself 
isolated and abandoned over night, Lulu Harcourt showed a sym 
pathetic understanding and loyalty and stood by me in a manner 


I shall never forget. The saying that "If once an Englishman is 
your friend, he is your friend for life" has never been more strikingly 
confirmed. Although then a member of the Cabinet, he never hes 
itated about coming to my studio, thus affirming his belief in my 
allegiance to England, which he had never doubted. When it became 
evident that the strife would be prolonged, he advised me to return 
to the United States to await his word to come back. He wrote 
frequently and proved by word and deed his unshaken faith. 

After the signing of the armistice, I became restless and home 
sick for England and my studio, which I had religiously continued 
to keep against the day when I should be able once more to resume 
life in that abode which held enshrined my happiest memories. I 
wrote to Harcourt about this. I also deputed a friend who was just 
then returning to England, to discuss with and learn from Lulu his 
opinion about my contemplated return. To my regret I soon re 
ceived this letter from him: 


It was very kind of you to send me your peace medal, which was de 
livered to me personally by Sir J. Leigh Wood. I wrote to him and I dare 
say he will send you my letter, and said that you would be wise not to return 
here till perhaps late in next year. By that time the anti-foreign feeling 
will have begun to die down more than at present, and you will find things 
more comfortable. . . . 

But apparently the fates had decreed otherwise. A short time 
after this, like a bolt from the blue sky, came a commission for a statue 
of the late H. J. Heinz of Pittsburg, toward the erection of which 
in the administration building, ten thousand workmen had con 
tributed to honor the friend who had been a father to them. As 
the sketches progressed, the work increased in importance, a veri 
fication of those words of Schiller's: 

And the much makes the more. 

The late Howard W. Bed, MD. 
Head of the American Red Cross Hospital, Peignton, England 

Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson 


In the final form the design had expanded to a memorial with 
architectural background and allegorical sculpture, and it took me 
the greater part of three years to complete it. It overshadowed and 
caused me to discard all my plans for the future. It made me feel 
that after many years I was confronted with a propitious oppor 
tunity to establish myself once more and, so to speak, take root 
in this new country, which I had been learning to love more and 
ever more. No flower will bear too frequent transplanting, and 
I had had a diversified experience in countries and people, as 
well as a variety of occupation. The time approaches when the 
wanderlust should have abated, that rambling spirit of youth, and 
we feel the longing for the calmer pursuits of life and for meditation 
and reflection. 

In the meantime two other occurrences influenced my decision 
for the future; one was the loss, by death, of my friend Harcourt; 
the other was the termination of the Crown-lease on my studio, of 
which I had been the fortunate holder for twenty-one years. 

Since the boundaries of my kingdom are the walls of my studio, 
and since the sun shines here as it does elsewhere, I decided that 
here I would remain. There are two forms of hospitalitythe 
aggressive, perhaps the more welcome and, it may be, the more flatter 
ing; and there is also the passive, which allows for one's inclinations 
and respects one's idiosyncrasies, and it is that form which this 
country has lavished upon me, and for which I am deeply grateful. 

In the beginning of 1903 the memorial to Prince Christian Vic 
tor, a sarcophagus surmounted by an obelisk, was completed in 
marble and placed in the Braye Chapel at Windsor. On the sar 
cophagus was seated the marble figure of the mourning Bellona. 
Her hands were crossed and resting on a sword entwined with laurels, 
the hilt of which was formed into a little " Victory." The monu 
ment contains two inscriptions, one on the obelisk which reads as 











APRIL I4TH, 1867 







In the steps were engraved these lines: 



Peace Medal 

June 28 


"My wants are few, I only wish a hut of stone that I may call my own." (Holmes.) 

| NE spring day as I was passingRegent's Park onmy way 
to Hampstead I noticed a sign announcing an im 
pending sale by auction of a property which seemed 
to me desirable. Standing in its own grounds of 
about four acres and surrounded by immense trees, 
was a Gothic house, equally quaint outside and in. The floor was 
on different levels on account of the many additions that had been 
made at various times. The dining room was octagonal and looked 
out upon the park, which delighted me. From it led a rather impos 
ing terrace into the gardens a rare feature in a town house. The 
roof was gabled, which alone was a considerable attraction and 
added to the desirability of the house, and the whole impressed me 
as an ideal spot for the home of an artist. For more than half a 
century it had belonged to the distinguished Bunsen family, which 
boasted Von Bunsen, the scientist and inventor, and many other 
well-known members. Among these was a Prussian ambassador 
to Great Britain, a friend of Bismarck. One of his descendants is 
Sir Maurice de Bunsen, who concluded his many years in the diplo 
matic service as ambassador to Austria at the beginning of the war. 
I purchased the lease from his sister, Baroness Deichmann, whose 
husband was a remarkable man. The head of the old banking house 
of Horstman & Co., he possessed vast wealth, which permitted him 
to indulge in his hobby of owning fine horses. His carriage horses 
were so perfectly matched that he drove them four-in-hand at the 
dub meets famous in Hyde Park. 



His was a conspicuous figure; the thin, drawn face with short 
cropped beard and his big black goggles made him an easy and 
tempting subject for caricaturists. The possibilities in this direc 
tion were not overlooked by Spy, of Vanity Fair, whose efforts 
scored an unequivocal success. At their place in Belgravia were 
lavished on his horses all the comforts and luxuries which he denied 
to himself. 

At that time I thought that a lease for twenty-two years was almost 
a lease for eternity and I readily built a studio for sculpture in a corner 
of the garden. But when I look back and realize how the years have 
flown, I only regret that I ever anticipated those troubles which never 
materialized and thus put a cloud between the sun and myself, when 
I knew how essential its rays are for my very existence. . . . 

Like the telegraph poles flying by the window of the moving train, 
so the events succeed each other in undisturbed reduplication. ' ' The 
eternal landscape of the past." Few happenings stand out forceful 
enough so as to detach themselves from the uniformity of everyday 

Abbey Lodge with its surrounding garden and quaint layout offered 
attraction to many friends and visitors ; they mustered in great variety; 
they formed a motley crowd as only the artist's studio can unite suc 
cessfully, imparting thus something to its atmosphere which blends 
discords into harmonies. 

One evening a friend, from an embassy, invited me to go with him 
to see Isadora Duncan who was dancing nightly at the Duke of York 
Theater. It was at the time when her classic interpretations, and 
those of Maud Allen, were the vogue, and they drew crowded houses. 
Isadora then still possessed her sylph-like figure. 

After the performance we waited* in her dressing room, to 
accompany her to the Savoy, where supper was served for four. 
With her was Lady Scott, the sculptress and widow of the explorer 

A Modern Juno 

The Japanese Pupil 


of the Antarctic. The fair dancer was in exuberant spirits, hardly 
to have been augmented by the Pol Roger of choice vintage, to which 
she helped herself rather generously. When closing time came she 
refused to go home; to her the evening had just begun. According 
to regulations, however, lights were turned out and we crowded 
into a cab with the intention of driving to Lady Scott's studio. This 
suggestion of Isadora's recalled the fact that my studio was close 
by, so we descended and entered it. The dim lights of the large 
room, outlining the statuary in a mysterious gloom, the ingratiating 
airs which my companion wrung from the stoic pipes of my little 
organ, and the balmy breezes pervading the garden, were all too 
strong for the dancer's exotic temperament. She reached for some 
of the draperies which lay about, disappeared behind a screen, to 
emerge in an attire which even exalted purists would have excused 
because of that atmosphere, and danced in a way to display her art 
in its perfection. I never wished to see her dance again, so that I 
might preserve this picture of her art in its undisturbed beauty. 

At about this same time I met a most interesting man, Hector 
von Baltazzi, a Hungarian by birth, whose brother was Aristide von 
Baltazzi, the most important breeder of racehorses in Austria- 
Hungary. While I was still in Vienna, this name figured in the 
sporting columns every day. Hector was a dashing cavalry officer 
and rode his brother's horses to victory. He was one of the inti 
mates of Kronprinz Rudolph of Austria, and because he was a witness of 
the tragedy at Meyerling, he had to leave Austria never to return 
again. He first settled in Paris where his fortune and name per 
mitted him to lead a life of leisure. 

It was there that he discovered Lina Cavalieri and her beautiful 
voice in a cabaret. At his expense she was educated and trained for 
opera. When I met him in London, his star was already on the 
wane. He had lost his nerve for riding; nothing could induce him 


to mount a horse again. His money was all gone and his existence 
was a precarious one. Once when I saw him in Paris, prior to this, 
he invited me to go with him to see Cavalieri, who had just begun to 
sing in grand opera. She occupied a charming fiat near Park Mon- 
ceau. It was the first time I had seen her and I was struck by her 
beauty and by her voice. As if we had been old friends, we went 
through operas and songs, neither of us concerned with the hour 
or the engagements we might have had. Baltazzi suggested that I 
paint her and nothing would have pleased me more, but her engage 
ment had just started and she was ambitious to make a real success, 
and the sittings were deferred. During the London season she sang 
at Covent Garden Opera. Her beauty made a favorable impression; 
her voice, however, did not carry well in such an enormous building. 
Still, she was fted by everyone, myself not excepted. 

One day I gave a Bohemian luncheon in her honor at my studio 
in Abbey Lodge, to which I invited some of her friends and admirers: 
Lady Charles Beresford, the Duchess of Marlborough, the Duchess 
of Sutherland, Soveral, Count Mensdorff, Prince Francis of Teck 
and several others. It was the height of the season. London was 
immersed in gayety and enveloped in sunshine, to enjoy the charm 
of which luncheon was served under the great elm tree before the 
house, whose outstretched branches formed one of the main attrac 
tions of the property. 

When we were seated and luncheon had commenced, the con 
versation became animated. Jests flew back and forth, Several's 
presence ensuring a goodly supply of them. No one was happier 
than I, when, suddenly, there was a scream and Cavalieri jumped up 
in evident terror. Nobody understood at first. I saw her counting 
us again and again, and then she said: 

"It's no use, I cannot stay; there are thirteen of us." 

Great consternation. At first we thought she was joking and 
wanted to tease us, but we soon realized that she was serious. I was 
at my wits' end. An idea flashed through my mind. I went into 


the conservatory near by and brought out a little marmoset which 
had been given to me once on my departure from New York. He was 
not larger than a teacup, but he saved the day. We seated him on a 
chair at the table, where he partook of lunch with us, which for 
him consisted of bananas; but he played his part and served the pur 
pose as well as if he had been a full-fledged gorilla. First there was 
some bewilderment, but when they recognized the erstwhile diminu 
tive occupant of his small cage, there ensued a storm of laughter and 
cheers, in which Lina led. And the merriment continued long after 
the luncheon was over. 

Soon afterward I commenced to work for Sir George and Lady 
Cooper; I was to paint a portrait of his eldest son as well as of Sir 
George, whose life story read like another fairy tale. In Chicago 
lived an old bachelor named George Smith, a banker. After the big 
fire, 1871, with singular discrimination he acquired land in the parts 
of town where values later increased. He divided his time between 
Chicago and London, where he occupied a small room at the Reform 
Club and, altogether, spent a most frugal life. When he died it 
was divulged that his estate was of a size transcending even Ameri 
can conceptions of wealth. He had bequeathed it to two of his rel 
atives a nephew in New York and a niece in England, a Mrs, 
Cooper, whose husband was a lawyer in Scotland. Both of these 
heirs understood better how to employ their uncle's money than he 
had ever known. James Henry Smith, the nephew, bought for him 
self a palatial mansion on Fifth Avenue and an estate in Tuxedo 
Park, which in exclusiveness rivals Newport. Then he proceeded 
to enjoy the life he had long craved. 

His sister did likewise in England; her mansion was in Grosvenor 
Square, her estate in Hampshire, and her husband's extensive shoot 
ing grounds in Kingussie, Invernesshire. No less an authority than 
Sir Joseph Duveen was responsible for the vast accumulation of art 
treasures which filled their houses. James Henry in America was 


equally fortunate in relying for his house and furnishing on the ex 
quisite taste which made Stanford White such an outstanding figure 
of his time. The Croesus-like entertainments of both were com 
mensurate with their establishments. 

Sir George's dinner parties were so elaborate that I sometimes 
thought he wanted to compensate for their lack during his earlier 
days. At one of these sumptuous functions, which reminded me 
vividly of the state dinners at court, I sat next to an unassuming, 
almost ascetic-looking gentleman with big eyeglasses and a demeanor 
which contrasted sharply with the opulence of his surroundings. I 
felt drawn toward my neighbor. His simplicity appealed to me. 
During the meal he sat in deep thought, with little interest in what 
was transpiring about him. Chance or intention made us regularly 
neighbors; not so surprising when it is considered that we were 
both present in a professional capacity only. Course after course 
appeared and was removed without his having partaken of it. His 
meal amid this epicurean feasting consisted of a few vegetables, 
fruits and a small tray of nuts. When I knew him well enough to 
venture to inquire about the cause of his abstemiousness, he ex 
plained that he was a member of the scientific staff of the British 
Museum and had been sent down to Hampshire to examine some 
objects that had been taken from the ground there, and which Sir 
George considered worthy of scientific investigation. He found his 
work so absorbing in character that the day was always too short and 
his strength insufficient for its accomplishment. His frail body 
would often revolt; he would feel tired; he would have to rest and 
lose much precious time; and so it occurred to him that a meager 
diet would relieve the body of unnecessary effort and energy which 
he could use to better purpose. 

The logic of this struck me forcibly. I also had more than I 
could crowd into a day. Although not by any means of delicate 
physique, I nevertheless belonged to that class who are born tired. 
There never was time enough for all I wanted to do, and consequently 


The Artisfs Sister 


I eagerly gave his diet a trial. It was not many months before I 
became convinced of its soundness, and this conviction has increased 
with the passing of the years. Material things of life meant less and 
less to me in inverse ratio to the growth of the spiritual side. Such 
living promotes well-being and contentment, and is of such funda 
mental importance that if greater attention were given to it much 
physical as well as mental and moral suffering would be obviated. 

James Henry Smith spent his summers in Europe; when in Eng 
land he often visited his sister, and it was there that I first met him- 
The work he wished me to do for him brought him to my studio, 
and he came there often. Doubtless the poetic quaintness of the 
place attracted him more than the personality of the artist. Among 
the friends he brought was the Gould family, with whom my ac 
quaintance dated from that time. With the beginning of the 
shooting season Mr. Smith went north to his Lodge Dunachton, 
near Kincraig, and before leaving he invited me to be his -guest dur 
ing my vacation and paint his portrait. He had a succession of 
visitors belonging to the best-known families of both continents. 
During my sojourn there, word came from the extreme north of 
Scotland that another prominent American, Mr. William P. Clyde, 
invited me to paint his likeness, should I have the inclination and 
time. Painting under such conditions is delightful. After a few 
hours of working assiduously, one feels entitled to a long walk in the 
fields, filling one's lungs with refreshing air borne from the sea. 

Nature is such a good companion; how resplendent the endless va 
riety of her colors, how ever changing her light effects and glorious 

The ants busily occupied with their lifework; the butterflies, the 
bees, hirniming their paeans of praise and rejoicing over the nectar they 
gather from the flowers; the birds twittering as they play about in the 
sunlight all radiate content, supernal happiness. Why can we not 
bring ourselves to enjoy life as they do ? Why should not our existence 
be one long day of sunshine and our recall its crowning? Surely the 


scheme of creation in its profound wisdom intended us to partake 
equally of our allotment of unalloyed bliss! 

The average man in the passing throng seems oblivious to beauty. 
He chases a vague phantom which evades him like the horizon 
which perpetually recedes as it is approached, because: Happiness 
grows within ourselves. It is sown in us in childhood, but when we 
do not nurture it, it dies of neglect. 

Instead of using our garden for fashionable parties, which are 
too numerous during the " season'' to be appreciated anyway, my 
sister and I decided that our entertainments should be for the crippled 
children in a nearby institution. There were about twenty-five of 
them, all of tender age. In order not to be dependent upon the uncer 
tainties of the weather, we held a Punch and Judy show under a big 
tree and served tea in the garden studio. Two things I noticed which 
illustrated the workings of the child mind. One was that as soon 
as these kiddies entered the gate (some had even to be carried), 
they would ask for Prinz, my great Dane, who was to them an even 
stronger attraction than the Punch and Judy show. The animal was 
so big that no adult stranger dared approach him, but it was touch 
ing to see how he was transformed into a different being when he came 
to greet these little tots, who could do whatever they pleased with 
him and he not only never resented it, but actually enjoyed the 

The other was a reflection on the psychology of human nature in 
general. In the beginning we used to give each child a little present, 
taking into consideration its age and small hobbies in the choice of 
an appropriate, though not extravagant, gift. But we were obliged 
to give up this idea. We heard from the nurse that when the chil 
dren returned and compared gifts, each one preferred what the 
others had, and this created unhappiness. 

Poor Prinz! My trips to America were not at all to his liking. 
He became more and more sad and I am grateful that I was not in 
England when he died. 


When I first began to live at Abbey Lodge, the novelty of the 
grounds and the possession of a home all my own for the first time 
in my life, may have caused me to assume more leisure than per 
haps I should have. As in the good old days at the Villa Strohl Fern 
in Rome, I lounged about in the garden, observing the growth of 
the flowers and the budding of the fruit trees. We had many friends 
among the little gray squirrels, who were so tame that they would 
come up and help themselves to the nuts which we kept for them in 
the dining room; with their heads they would raise the cover of the 
mug which contained their food. Such confidence shown by a little 
wild creature surpasses that of many humans. But animal intui 
tion knows better. 


'Like the eagle free away the good ship flies." (Cunningham.) 

WAS tumble to complete the portrait of Mr. Clyde, and 
when the fall came and he and Smith were about to 
return to the States, James Henry invited me to join 
him as his guest. As I still had that portrait to finish, 
I accepted with alacrity. I had several of my sculp 
tures and paintings packed and sent over, intending to hold a small 
exhibition when the picture of Mr. Clyde should be ready, and at 
the end of October we sailed. 

One's sensations on a first long sea voyage are peculiar and varied. 
For a while one seems content, probably induced by the pure salt 
air, and the monotony of the water, to give oneself up to complete 
relaxation with an utter indifference for the affairs of the world. 
But after a few days to awake on a fine morning in a sea so calm that 
the ship seems to glide along without semblance of motion, by and 
by instills in you the urge to be up and doing, to resume activities, 
an urge which increases in intensity with the approach to New York 
and its crisp, invigorating air. When at last the distant land is dis 
cernible with its imposing line of skyscrapers, like " Titans reaching 
toward Heaven" and forming a bulwark against the horizon, you feel 
like rolling up your sleeves and placing yourself on that powerful 
wheel which turns this new world, and to the progress of which you 
long to contribute your mite. 

The formalities at the Custom House were speedily terminated, 
one might almost say dispensed with, for at that time the " courtesy 


'ffi/'^$$$fa. ' %^ & 

"* ,',/*!!'/ , ,', ; , ' '/'' i 

Captain Robert W. Hunt 


of the port" was enjoyed by some prominent citizens, who could 
drive off almost unchallenged and unmolested. A few reporters in 
terviewed me about my impressions of art and artists, but apparently 
my replies were not sufficiently controversial, for some of them did 
not even take the trouble to write them down, but looked over the 
passenger list to determine upon their next and more promising 

The impressions I first received in this new world were so different 
from any in my wanderings through the European countries that 
they remain vivid in my memory. 

Already at the landing the contrast was evident. There was 
marked interest, if not to say curiosity, to learn the sensations which 
the newcomer entertained; notwithstanding that the interviewer 
could plainly read in the stranger's expression marveling and amaze 
ment he nevertheless felt impelled to have this confirmed by a flowing 
tongue. It looked to me like vanity; as pardonable a vanity as the 
debutante displays in throwing a last look in the mirror, more to con 
firm what in her mind she beholds than to discover any imperfections. 

It was not only the scale and proportions of this new world which 
made me gasp but also the alertness of these new-worlders. Almost 
at the first day I was made to realize how much slower our brain 
works in cases of emergency; on boarding a crowded streetcar I felt 
a subtle hand deftly removing my wallet from my pocket. The man 
behind who was the perpetrator of the abstraction quietly pointed at 
a youth who precipitately left the car, prompting me in my bewilder 
ment to start a hopeless pursuit. I feel sure that long before it dawned 
upon me that these two were confederates, they already had feasted 
on their spoils and over and above had a good laugh in the bargain. 

Not seldom am I wondering about the cause of general hilarity in 
a play when, whilst disentangling the joke, I hear the audience al 
ready roaring at the next. 

This smartness places me at a disadvantage. I would hardly dare 
to decide if exuberance of youth is the only cause for living in that 


lighter vein, but it did strike me forcefully how, even so, everything in 
New York was brimming with life, progress, confidence, and hope. 

My reaction to the first days of my American sojourn was one of im 
mense gratitude for generous hospitality, astonishment at the ver 
satility of this new and industrially active country and respect for a 
wall of Puritan moral caution into which I bumped almost the first 

When we reached the Fifth Avenue mansion the size of old George 
Smith's fortune began to impress me properly. A marble hall with 
a winding staircase led into the dining room in pure Renaissance, with 
a ceiling transplanted in toto from a Florentine palace. Through the 
adjoining conservatory with its little trickling fountain, the magnifi 
cent Louis Fourteenth ballroom was entered. Every detail of the 
house was executed with mastery and taste. 

It was at the beginning of the New York season, of which the 
Horse Show in Madison Square Garden was the opening event. 
We were a large party and had our own box. During the intervals we 
strolled about and our host greeted quantities of friends and acquain 
tances. Even I, a stranger in this country, met a friend, a member 
of an old noble Austrian family. He was with a small party in an 
other box, the shining star of which was a lady of striking appearance 
a veritable Juno with the features of a Venus. She was the Princess 
, the family of whose husband, the Prince, is known to every 
one who has lived abroad as one of the oldest and richest of the feudal 
nobility of Austria, and the Prince was its head. 

I was presented to the Princess and in turn presented my party. 
James Henry was so delighted that he suggested showing them over 
his mansion, of which the Prince said he had heard a great deal. To 
make the occasion worthy of the guests, he invited them to a dinner 
to be followed by a reception in their honor. The Princess asked me 
to make a sketch of her before she left for Europe. I was the guest of 
James Henry, so I begged to be excused from joining the house party 
over the week-end at Tuxedo, so that I might paint instead. 


Monday at breakfast I sensed that something was wrong; and 
indeed there was. Soon the storm broke in all its fury, 

"What do you mean by bringing such a woman into my house?" 
inquired Smith. "Do you know what is being said of her? And to 
spoil the Sunday of my servants and upset my household for such as 

Here was an example of those subtle distinctions which separate 
the grand seigneur to the manor born from him who acquires his 

I quietly replied that the Princess was the wife of a man whose 
family is known and respected over all Europe and that since she was 
his legal wife, no one had the right or the privilege to delve into her 
past for such a trifling cause as a dinner and reception. This calmed 
him somewhat; he evidently appreciated the fairness of my argument. 

''But/' he returned, "what shall I do about the dinner? What 
will my guests say if they ever learn who it is they have been asked 
to meet?" 

I begged that he would let me relieve him of his anxiety and allow 
me to provide the entertainment for the occasion. Feeling responsi 
ble for any possible embarrassment, I decided to again resort to 
"Music's golden tongue" and secured the services of a pianist, with 
whom I practiced some duos for piano and organ, and when, following 
the dinner, the guests assembled in the ballroom on the fateful even 
ing, we gave our program. We had encore after encore until the ser 
vants announced the carriages. James Henry was all smiles. He had 
received many compliments for his novel and entertaining evening. 
He was spared the embarrassment he had needlessly feared anyway. 
And so all was well because it had ended well. 

But that same day I had rented a studio in the Beaux Arts Build 
ing and, next morning when he went out of his way to thank me, I 
went out of mine to thank him for his hospitality. I added that artists 
and their sitters are too uncertain factors to be reckoned with in a well 
regulated household and that I was leaving for my studio that day. 


He mtumtxred some regret but I feel certain that in his inmost heart 
he was glad to be relieved of that touch of Bohemianism, obviously in 
too sharp contrast with the atmosphere of Louis Fourteenth and the 
Renaissance. When I was again my own master, I reveled in my re 
gained independence which, after all, is one of our most treasured pos 

And we continued our cordial relations unclouded until his death. 

When I visited the palatial mansion of James Henry Smith for 
the first time, I was impressed by the harmony and beauty of it as a 
whole; also by the exquisite finish of each detail. There was but 
one discordant note the pictures. Even a less well-trained eye 
would have noticed that they were not in keeping with the remainder 
of the appointments. No one would have dared to discuss it with 
him, however, for it was the one feature of the house for which he 
alone was responsible. When the place was sold to him completely 
furnished, he probably saw no reason for paying enormous prices 
lor the pictures it contained, when an acquaintance he had made 
in Paris would buy for him aH the masters he needed purely as a matter 
of friendship; consequently the paintings were eliminated in the sale 
of the house. 

Having bought the mansion, Smith went abroad to call on 
Ms friend. He was very prosperous; he had a fine racing stable, and 
Ms home was a gorgeous show place, furnished with perfect taste, to 
attract the gullible American, The pictures on his walls were gems. 
Also the reputation of Ms father-in-law as a collector was world-wide, 
Here, thought Smith, was the man to locate some treasures for Ms 
New York house. And in due course of time, one picture after an 
other found its way across the sea. Of course no one cared to offer an 
opinion as to their quality, for everyone knows that even when a 
criticism, is asked it is expected to be one that will confirm the owner's 
preconceived estimate. James Henry even presented a painting to 
the Metropolitan Museum, where it adorns a wall, but in my modest 
judgment it is not characteristic of the great master it represents, and 


Pink Marble 


bears none of the attributes which distinguish his work. Since I am 
not an expert and make no claim to expert knowledge, I trust no 
importance will be attached to these comments. 

But this I do know: The same art dealer that's what he really 
was arranged a representative collection for one of the metal kings 
of America, to contain all the best in art, and for which he received 
an exorbitant price. I was invited one day to tea and to inspect the 
pictures. When I left, the friend who had brought me asked what I 
thought of them. There was no reason why I should withhold my 
views, so I told him I believed they were all faked, with the exception 
of one small Watteau, which appeared to be a genuine Pater. This 
was on an easel, carefully inclosed in glass and in a frame of the 

My bold and impudent remarks some time after must have 
readied the ears of the metal queen. Years after, the man died, and 
in his will bequeathed these treasures to the museum upon the death 
of his widow. One day she came to my London studio and said she 
wanted to ask me a point-blank question if 1 would promise to answer 
it as truthfully as I knew how. I agreed, and she inquired if it were 
true that I had so adversely adjudged her collection. I did not deny 
it, but I stressed the fact that it was merely an opinion without ul 
terior motive and which I had hoped would not be repeated. My 
apprehensiveness evidently amused her, and she explained that be 
fore leaving for Europe she had prepared for a long stay abroad and 
had given up her Fifth Avenue mansion. To be certain that her 
priceless paintings received proper care, she made arrangements to 
have them insured. It was then that she had the first intimation that 
they were not worth insuring. When she reached Paris, she had an 
interview with the dealer-sportsman, who was sport enough to prefer 
to settle the discussion out of court. 

Such matters are not confined to America, One day after lunch 
ing at the home of Mr. Alfred Beit, he displayed the latest addition to 
his collection. He was the criterion in art among the South African 


millionaires. He and Ms partner, Wemher, were among the first to 
discover the rich gold reefs and the diamond fields. As they were 
rivals in wealth, so were they rivals in the splendor of their homes. 
The collection of Beit was small but unusually choice. His latest 
purchase was a sketch of a young woman by Gainsborough, which 
had been placed on an easel in the corner of his drawing-room, rather 
against the light. He was so accustomed to having his friends rave 
over his possessions that he instantly noticed my lack of enthusiasm, 
and commented on it, and I willingly explained. In the time of 
Gainsborough and Reynolds, for various causes many of their pic 
tures remained unfinished. Some, nearly completed, were refused by 
their sitters; others, the artists did not wish to continue further. 
After the death of these men, an entire roomful of such canvases was 
auctioned off. When their work became more sought after and rose 
in value, dealers had these unfinished canvases worked over, and sold 
them as authentic. Under such conditions it is difficult to tell where 
the old master left off and the new one started. But to an experi 
enced eye it was easily noticeable when the drawing was too amateur 
ish for a master to do. This I was able to demonstrate on the 
picture. And back it went to the dealer. 

Another instance involving the name of a well-known house, con 
cerned tibe sale of a Cosway to a collector of miniatures by the same 
dealer. After a time the ivory began to warp. There was an artist 
who made small repairs for the amateur, to whom he gave this 
work. The artist looked in some surprise at the miniature and 
at last asked if it would be too presumptuous to want to learn 
more about it. The collector told him when and where he had 
bought it, and even mentioned the price he had given, whereupon 
the artist announced that it was he who had made it for the dealer. 
Because of the prominence of all concerned, this was hushed up and 
the thousand guineas promptly returned. The dealer was not greatly 
injured, for when he died Ms estate still aggregated several million 
pounds sterling. 


The first portrait I undertook in New York was of a southern 
beauty, Mrs. Edward R. Thomas, formerly Miss Linda Lee. She 
was as considerate as she was lovely and her portrait gave me a rare 
opportunity. With it and one of Marjorie Gould, then a charming 
girl of eighteen, and another of Mrs. Marshall Field, who as Evelyn 
Marshall was not less so, I had a small collection of American beauties. 
These, added to the paintings of James Henry Smith and Mr. William 
P. Clyde, formed the nucleus of an exhibition at Knoedler's, which 
brought me publicity and commissions as well. That spring when I 
returned to London to resume work there, I left behind so much un 
finished here, that I decided to come back in the fall. After years of 
London's foggy days, dark and gloomy, the American winter, abound 
ing in sunshine, is an agreeable change. 

The portrait I painted of Marjorie was the first I did for the 
Goulds. There was no more hospitable house, nor family that cared 
more for art, old and new, or who made an artist feel more at home. 

Georgian Court, near Lakewood, was the scene of their hearty 
hospitality. Once welcome, always welcome, and "no questions 
asked/' Among the guests were many artists, musicians and actors. 
Whenever an artist was introduced there, he received warm encourage 
ment from the family. 

It is some years since I have seen any of them; an artist's life has 
one great disadvantage. It might be compared to a greedy little child 
who is taken into a toyshop by its mother. It wants to stop at every 
thing, and wants to have everything it sees ; and its mother has to lead 
it firmly away. And so with the artist; he cannot linger, much as he 
would often like to. He must go on relentlessly, impelled by the force 
of new impressions which come with every day; new people enter into 
his life continually, but he must keep aloof so that his path shall re 
main free and he can give himself up to his work entirely and un 

Through some inexplicable causes, due perhaps to conditions of 


the country, American women are among the most beautiful in the 
world, among "earth's noblest things." They are as indigenous to 
the soil of America as the grass of Ireland which is so beneficial to the 
breeding of race horses. Or, again, they are not produced elsewhere 
any more than the beer of Munich can be even approximated away 
from " its native haunt/ 1 however carefully it is brewed. What forci 
bly impresses one in New York is that beauty is not confined to the 
tipper strata alone, but that all classes flaunt it in ever increasing pro 
fusion. This augurs well for the future, for the loveliness is not of the 
face alone but is shared by symmetrical bodies. With such material, 
I believe that in America will be evolved a type to compare advantag 
eously with the statues of the ancient Greeks. Probably on account 
of the infusion of Spanish blood, the American girl has the smallest, 
daintiest, best formed, gracefully arched foot. With it goes a good 
hand, well groomed and with tapering fingers. In spite of what others 
may have said and the fact that I myself may be considered as being 
not in a competent position to judge, I believe she makes as capable 
and sensible a wife as any. If when choosing, she would bear in mind 

It is the secret sympathy, 
The silver link, the silken tie, 
Which heart to heart and mind to mind 
In body and in sotil can bind 

the unions might be still happier and more enduring. She is an 
admirable wife, and the mother of those sturdy little chaps whom " but 
to see is to admire." I often regret that I did not come here at an 
earlier age, when I might have set up a hearthstone for myself. But 
I have paid my tribute by placing my art at the service of her immor 
talization to the best of my ability. I had many opportunities and 
am grateful for every one. 

Here I also painted the portrait of Ambrose Swasey of Cleveland, 
who, from a humble beginning, without college education, has be 
came one of the leading engineers of the country. With his life- 

Catherine Cahert 

Mr. Fuchi First Portrait Commission in America 
Mrs. Edward R. Thomas wko was the Beautiful Linda Lee from Louisville, Kentucky 


long friend, W. C. Warner, they founded a company for the manu 
facture of machine tools of precision. But their most important 
accomplishments were in the realm of astronomy, in the building 
of the telescopes for the Lick, Yerkes, IL S. Naval and other large 
observatories. Toward the perfection of these achievements they 
were assisted by the collaboration of Professor Brashier of Pittsburgh, 
who with indefatigable patience constructed the mirrors and lenses. 
When, after several years of hard work, he finally completed the 
large lens for the Allegheny Observatory, the trustees offered him, 
as a token of deep appreciation,, a vault in the foundation of the big 
instrument which offer he accepted. To make certain that the epi 
taph should be worthy of the occasion, he was asked if he cared to 
make any suggestions, whereupon he wrote this line: 

" We have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." 
In 1900, on the occasion of the visit of Prince Henry of Prussia 
to the United States, a committee headed by Edward D. Adams 
offered him a luncheon, to which one hundred of the most promi 
nent men were invited. To avoid all possible chance of injuring any 
one's feelings, they were seated in alphabetical order and the com 
mittee had prepared a booklet enumerating the achievements of 
each guest, which they handed to the Prince. After luncheon, the 
Prince addressed a few words to each man. When Professor Brashier's 
turn came, he said to him: 

"I am glad to know you, Professor; we also make some very good 

instruments at home and, should you ever come to P , let me 

know and I will show you the observatory, which is one of our best." 

"Thank you, Sir," was the reply, "I know it; I built it myself." 

At that same luncheon, Brashier sat next to a brewer, to whom, 

in the course of their conversation, he mentioned his collection of 

photographs of the heavens, which had been gathered together with 

great care and which, to his regret, were housed in a wooden shanty, 

for want of something better. The brewer casually inquired what 

he thought a fireproof building would cost. Brashier mentioned a 


probable stun. In the next morning's mail he found a check for 
that amount. 

I also met Forbes-Robertson again after such a long while. The 
last time I had seen him was in London after the first night of The 
Passing of the Third Floor Back. Following a series of failures he 
had produced this play, and it made one sad to go back and congratu 
late him, on its performance when, judging from its reception, it was 
not expected to last either. But the extraordinary happened; owing 
to its mysticism, it was discussed by the clergy from the pulpits and in 
consequence attracted people who did not usually attend the theater. 
They liked it. They found in the character of the stranger-guest 
much more than the simple boarder. And the success of it was 
assured* It ran for over three years. Nothing could have made 
me happier than to know that he had found his " Passing of the third 
floor back," though I have still to find mine. 

As long as Mrs. Benjamin Guinness lived in New York, her house 
was the meeting place for everyone who counted in art, science, 
Eterature and the theater, and also for that portion of society which, 
although belonging to the most select, did not disdain the touch 
of Bohemianism they found at eight- Washington Square North. 
I had known Mrs. Guinness years before when she and her friend, 
Lady Colebrooke, had a studio together in Kensington, a suburb of 
London, where they studied sculpture. She was always exceptional 
as girl, wife, mother and as hostess, too. 

Her husband, a member of the house of Guinness, the brewers, 
of which Lord Iveagh is the head, is a partner of Ladenburg, Thai- 
man & Co. The Guinness couple is unusually congenial, as their 
tastes move in the same direction. Her first Tuesday night, which 
I remember so well, was a strange mixture which only she could have 
brought together. There were Mrs. W. Z. Vanderbilt, Senior, Mrs. 
James A. Burden and Lina Cavalieri with her retinue of countrymen 
the handsome Villarosa and his friend the Marquis Somni-Picci- 


cardi and Bosco of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. Whenever 
there was a lull in the conversation, Bosco would fetch his guitar and 
sing Neapolitan airs to his own accompaniment and thus restore the 
conviviality so essential in a motley gathering like this. 

The Tuesday evenings became an institution, where one met 
those one hoped to meet, and also some of those one did not care so 
much about. But there were always so many people and so much 
smoke and the buffet was so long, that one could hide behind a cloud 
or a plate or a conversation when one felt the need. 

One night I met there Doctor C B who came up to me 

and said in an awed tone: "Do you know the latest?" 

I confessed I didn't. "You don't?" he repeated reproachfully, 
and I shook my head. 

"Imagine," he went on, "Melchers has received from the Kaiser 
the Order of the Red Eagle den rothen Adler Orden," he ^pt on 

I must say I drew a deep breath of relief and replied jestingly: 
"Thank Heaven, it could have been much worse." And he never 
forgave my lack of appreciation of the solemnity of such an honor. 

Dear B -, he took himself so seriously. When first I came 
to this country he had just begun to write articles about artists which 

were published in M 's Magazine. He had a facile pen from 

which flowed the most elaborate phrases. He could write for Mr. 

H a sparkling introduction for, say, the Sorolla exhibition, 

when Zuloaga's followed he displayed equal eloquence; he did as 
well for Paul Troubetskoy, and also for artists diametrically oppo 
site, like Boris Anisfeld and some of the other modernists, whom 
he would praise to the skies and whose art he would paint in even 
more glowing colors than their own palettes contained. One day 
when he reads through his many monographs, I wonder if he will not 
be surprised at the amazing and varied revolutions that his views and 
opinions have endured. In his hand "the pen became a clarion" 
"that mighty instrument of little men." 


Once a minister was asked to preach a funeral sermon. Conscien 
tious man that he was, he said: 

"I will tell you right now I have three grades. The first wiU 
cost fifty dollars, when I shall give free rein to my eloquence which 
will move you to tears. The second wiU. cost twenty and is not so 
good, but I can still embellish the life of the dear departed to some 
extent. But the third, my five dollar sermon, this, Sir, I myself 
would not even recommend." 

As the Tuesday evenings continued, the more interesting they 
became. There I met Mark Twain in his white flannels, with his 
inseparable cigar, removing it only to dance with Mrs. Burden or 
other Mends, enjoying himself tremendously. There was also 
Travers Jerome, then District Attorney and a great favorite with 
everyone; Sorolla, the two Troubetskoys with their Princesses, and 
many, many others. 

The hosts have long since returned to England; their house is 
closed, but the gap they have left is open still. 

One of the portraits which I greatly enjoyed painting was Mrs. 
Robert Goelet's, who was Elsie Whelen of Philadelphia. Looking 
at her and her husband together at James Henry Smith's, one mar 
veled at what these two could have had in common. She was tall, 
he small ; she was stately and reserved in deportment, not he. When 
she sat in her corner box at the Metropolitan Opera House, she was 
an outstanding figure, in spite of the fact that jewels were denied to 
her, such perfect ornaments to those who know how to wear them. 
Although they were both lovers of music, her preference was for 
opera, concerts and the nobler themes of life. Small wonder then 
that "golden chains are heaviest." 

Mrs. Goelet's sittings were recreation for me; she wished to know 
about everything pertaining to art; in fact, all beautiful things in 
terested her and she also wanted to know all the people who accom 
plished them. They ware welcome guests at her house. It was 

Awakening of Spring 

Mr. Clarence M. Clark 


amusing to note the expression of her husband's face when he found 
dining at his ceremonious table a few artists or literary men in shabby 
clothing, which perhaps had even been borrowed for the occasion. 

One day I invited Doctor Alexis Carrel of the Rockefeller Insti 
tute, to the studio. I met him almost daily at the Fencers' Club, 
where we exercised at our favorite pastime. He was delighted to 
meet Mrs. Goelet, and she seemed equally pleased. Naturally 
everything he said enthralled her, so much so that he invited us both 
to go over the Institute with him. He was then working on that 
mighty problem of operation on the heart, which he said required an 
absolutely new technic on account of the exceeding brevity of the 
interval during which heart action might be suspended without 
disastrous results to the patient. But he was confident that ulti 
mately it could be accomplished. 

What he performed before our eyes bordered on the miraculous. 
He took a little dog which apparently had some valvular disease, 
bared the heart to our gaze, did whatever was necessary, and sewed 
it up again. The little animal he placed in a heated chamber, through 
the glass door of which we were able to note its gradual awakening. 
Before we left, after having inspected the building and the phenomenal 
experimental hospital adjoining, then in process of completion, we 
returned and found, to our relief, that the dog "felt as well as could be 

The Rockefeller name naturally calls to mind that of Morgan. 
It was in those dark days of 1907, after the Knickerbocker Trust 
failure, when Morgan had held that remarkable all-night session in 
his library, that a friend of his conceived the idea of having his por 
trait painted and'presented to him, and suggested that I do it. He 
introduced me to Mr. Morgan who consented to pose. But after 
meeting him, I felt that the gulf between him and the mere outside 
world was immeasurable, and that no one would ever be permitted 
to bridge it. I should not have been able to approach close enough 
to penetrate behind that concealing mask, to make anything more 


than a superficial presentment of his featttres. And I felt he was 
too important a personage for that. But his librarian obtained 
pennission for me to sketch the interior of his treasure-house at night. 
This was a task to my liking. To be surrounded by the art of by 
gone days in the witching hours of the night, gave me far more pleas 
ure than the dinner parties I thus missed. 

Over the mantel in Mr. Morgan's study hung a portrait of his 
father, Jttnius Morgan, the work of an English artist who, being in 
need, showed his paintings to a picture dealer. He secured a couple 
of commissions for him, one of which was for the elder Morgan. But 
when he was expected to come and add the finishing touches, he had 
disappeared and no trace has ever been found of him. 

As was to be anticipated, the Goelet union could not endure. They 
parted, to the lasting happiness of both. He clung so tenaciously to 
the material things of life, that he refrained from sharing them with 
even his wife. He probably consoled himself with the thought that 
Nature had so prodigally endowed her that to attempt further to 
beautify her would be but "to gild refined gold, to paint the lily, to 
throw a perfume on the violet." . . . 

Among those who came to me through my first exhibition were 
the Van Nordens. Warner Van Norden was the head of a trust 
company bearing his name. Of distinguished appearance, over six 
feet tall, bald, but with snow-white moustache and whiskers and 
smooth shaven chin, he resembled old Emperor William of Germany. 
He was a cultured gentleman and I greatly enjoyed his talks on all 
sorts of topics. 

One day he spoke of himself and his favorite avocation, and then 
I learned that he interested himself extensively in missionary work. 
He was a friend and admirer of the late General Booth of the Salva 
tion Army. But his hobby was the compilation of his family tree, 
extending over tie continents and through the centuries. He carried 
on a lively correspondence with people everywhere whose names were 


similar, In an effort to ascertain their relationship. This made me 
smile. I wonder if we have been as successful in breeding human 
beings as in breeding animals. I should doubt it. Perhaps the 
Orientals, who arrange the unions of their children, ignoring their 
inclinations, obtain good results. But this is certain: we do not yet 
raise thoroughbred humans. 

Another client of mine was Edward D. Adams, one of the trustees 
of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. All his life he has made friends 
among the artists and if today he can boast of Innesses, Winslow 
Homers and Blakelocks, he has moreover the satisfaction of having 
acquired these pictures from the artists direct when his patronage 
meant more to them than the advance in the value of their paintings 
could possibly mean to him. 

I painted a likeness of his only son who had just died in the full 
ness of life, rich in promise and richer still in achievement in science 
and music. He was the happy possessor of a famous Stradivarius. It 
was one of the sorrows of the parents that the instrument remained 
unused and as a consequence might deteriorate. Still there was too 
much sentiment attached to it to permit it to be profaned by irreverent 
hands. I therefore got in touch with Fritz Kreisler, whom I had known 
in those early days in Vienna and again in London, and I invited him 
and his wife to my studio, and Mr. and Mrs. Adams with the violin- 
No sooner had Kreisler touched it than it began to sing under his 
enchanted fingers, and it sang so heartrendingly that he had to pause 
lest emotions overcome the grief -stricken parents. And the Adams' 
Stradivarius went to the master, Fritz Kreisler. 

In the fall of 1915, when crossing again, there was on board a dis 
tinguished looking man to whom everyone paid respectful attention. 
This was Doctor Howard W. Beal, Director of the American Red 
Cross in England and chief surgeon of the American Women's Hospi 
tal at Peignton. Before we landed, his wife spoke to me about a sketch 
she wanted to have made of her husband during his vacation. He was 


an interesting, a considerate and a patient sitter. His career of many 
years in the army had disciplined him to accept all things cheerfully 
even when not always to his liking. This was true of all my military 
sitters. Such portraits progress more rapidly and to the mutual satis 
faction of artist and subject. Melville Stone was the victim of my 
inquisitive brush at about that time and if I make a comparison, it is 
with no intention of reflecting upon the posing of Mr. Stone. Doctor 
Seal's military precision was a contrast to Stone's conviviality. What 
the one offered in patience the other offset in flow of spirits. Mr. 
Stone is full of good stories. Small wonder that, at his fortress at the 
Lotus Club, he is always surrounded by a wall of humanity. 

A short time after America entered the war, instead of returning 
to his administrative occupation at Peignton r Doctor Beal preferred 
the more active form of soldiering. He enlisted with the regular 
army and was one of the first victims on the battlefield. I am more 
than glad that it was my privilege to immortalize the features of the 
man who immortalized his name by his splendid patriotism. 

During my many years in America I have had the opportunity 
to express my art through its different media. Many of my por 
traits have been executed in oil. However some heads were infinitely 
better adapted to marble. A young girl from the West came with 
her mother and posed for a bust which, after the exhibition at the 
Academy, was shown and reproduced under the name of Sylvana. 
Another girl appeared on the horizon with the features of a Greek 
goddess. Her beauty was so striking that every artist who saw her 
asked her to pose, and, during her meteoric existence on the artistic 
fimaament (it lasted only a few months), many likenesses of her were 
attempted. Her profile was purely classic. Her forehead and nose 
were almost a straight line, a rarity. The oval of her face was as per 
fect as the profile, and so was her mouth and her chin with its little 
dimple. It was one of those heads whose beauty was so pronounced 
from every different angle and view that justice could only be done to 


A Portrait Bust 



it in sculpture. This bust was shown at last year's Academy. I 
called it Modern Juno, and, had I been able to arrange it, I should 
have had a short film made and thrown on the screen. 

I have often considered how instructive and interesting it would 
be to show in this way the more important sculptures of the day. 

Morgan Medal (obverse) 


"The land where every weed is flaming and only man is black." (Chesterton.) 

[T the beginning of 1912, 1 again sailed for America on 
my way to Cuba. I had some work to do there and 
also I was eager to visit the island of which I had heard 
so much. I took the sea route all the way. On arriv 
ing at Havana, although it was early morning, we 
were met by a curious crowd. It was the first time the Hamburg- 
American Steamship Company had sent such a large boat as the 
Kronprincessin Victoria Louise to Havana; in fact, she was the 
largest ship that had ever entered the harbor. The sight that 
greeted us as we slowly steamed into port was an inspiring one. The 
dark blue of the water against the objects on the shore gilded by 
the rays of a blazing sun, a delight to the eye, was augmented by the 
beautiful farewell airs played by the steamer band. 

Our attention was first attracted to the wreck of the U. S. S. 
Maine, which still lay athwart the harbor and interfered with ship 
ping. They were already working on the raising of it, and I had 
timed my stay so that I might be able to witness the impressive 
ceremony. The family whom I was to visit lived about three hours 
away by train from Havana. At the station I began to feel dis 
couraged. It was nothing more than a shanty of most primitive 
<xsnstruction. There were dirty wagons about, filled with a loud- 
talking, gesticulating, smoking crowd. Outside and in the trains 
as well were people carrying fighting cocks under their arms which 

made nearly as much noise as their owners. Everywhere were 



invitations to play the lottery, a vice rampant all over the country, 
which prevents people from saving money. Little work is done and 
that little tinder stress of necessity only, the majority trusting to the 
fertility of the soil and its abundant productiveness. 

To my surprise and relief I was met at the station by a carriage 
drawn by a splendid pair of Kentucky steppers. This was encourag 
ing. But here was an incongruity the equipage was superb, but 
there was no road. We jolted over the stubble fields as well as we 
could, but it was not easy. I shudder to contemplate the pilgrim 
age during the rainy season through a red pool of mud. These cor 
rugated furrows extended nearly to the house, but when we reached 
it, we entered a paradise on earth. The viUa in Moorish style was 
built around a court planted with tropical flowers. Palms that 
reached far above the roof stretched out their shady leaves invit 
ingly. The interior of the house was amazing. There were suites of 
luxurious rooms that were the last words in decorations and furni 
ture. The baths, hot and cold, were perfectly equipped. It was a 

The owner and his beautiful wife met me at the entrance. With 
them were a daughter and son-in-law. Mine was the agreeable privi 
lege of painting Madame's portrait; and as I Eve over these enchant 
ing days, they seem to have been all too brief and like a dream. 

Sometimes we would drive to town to call at the villas of friends. 
I had an opportunity to see the famous Villa d'Abreo situated at 
the outskirts, and prominent in the distance* Every visitor to the 
island coveted the favor of an invitation to inspect the place, so I 
appreciated the honor of being shown over it by Madame d'Abreo 

The garden luxuriated in those plants and trees characteristic 
of the meridional countries, but the extraordinary feature of it was 
her collection of monkeys of all sizes. Some were her personal 
favorites. There was a gorilla and his consort inhabiting a truly 
palatial cage. When they observed our approach, still distant, 


they shook the bars with such force that I thought they would break. 
Madame d'Abreo opened the door and invited them for a stroll in 
the gardens. She offered them cigarettes to which the female 
greedily helped herself with no sparing hand. She lighted them 
gracefully and enjoyed each puff while walking at the side of their 
indulgent friend. They slept in a room next to her bedroom and 
their behavior was beyond reproach. 

It was a novelty to note how the cigar-makers lighten their weary 
hours of toil. "O thou weed, who art so lovely fair and smelTst so 
sweet. 1 * On a platform in the center of a room of huge proportions, 
a man with stentorian voice read fiction, poetry or history, to suit 
their diversified tastes, while the workers kept at their tasks in unin 
terrupted and flattering silence. 

Each afternoon at a stated hour a saddle horse would be brought 
around for me, and I would ride to a neighboring estate which re 
sembled more a virgin forest than a garden. Fastening my horse to 
a tree, I would penetrate into the thicket and listen to the thousands 
of voices which seemed to greet me like a Mend. I walked amid 
caimitoes, mangoes, tangerines, oranges and breadfruit, and rare or 
chids crept along the trunks of trees. The -picture was as varied as 
the songs of the birds. 

When I returned, my hosts awaited me on the veranda in their 
comfortable chairs. A dinner much too elaborate for the climate 
would be partaken of to the music supplied by some exotic bird, 
accompanied by the chirping from millions of crickets, while the 
blue of the sky merged into night. . . . 

After returning from Cuba I embarked on the Lusitania for 
London to resume my work. It was that season of the year when 
many interesting people are traveling. On shipboard the theater 
was represented by Marc Klaw and Morris Gest. Mr. Gest's main 
purpose in going over was to obtain the rights to the " Rosenkavalier " 
of Richard Strauss ; Elaw's aspirations were in lighter vein. The men 

Melville E. Stone 
General Manager of the Associated Press 

The Art Dealer 
Martin Colnaghi 


appeared to be on the friendliest terms, but in their personal conver 
sations there seemed to be a constraint, a barrier, preventing either 
from discovering the intention of the other in crossing which was evi 
dent and highly amusing. 

Another passenger was the late Alexander J. Hemphill, of the 
Guaranty Trust Company, to whom I was introduced. He pre 
sented me to Sir Thomas Shaughnessy, president of the Canadian 
Pacific Railway, and to his friends. During the voyage, Sir Thomas 
consulted me about a portrait of himself, to be hung in the new 
meeting room of the board of directors of his company, and asked 
me to paint it. Before leaving London he repeated his offer, and I 
promised that I would go to Canada that fall. If I needed any further 
inducement, this was a new country which I was eager to visit. And 
in the late fall of that year I started on my journey to Montreal. 

Sir Thomas gave me the sittings in the large board room, adjoin 
ing his private office, which was to be the permanent home of the 
portrait. Since the railroad had been in existence, it had had but 
five presidents. Paintings of the first two were posthumous works; 
the third was a full length of Lord Strathcona; the fourth was of Sir 
Robert van Home, and the fifth was to be by me, which honor I 
thoroughly appreciated, trying to live up to it. 

As the sittings occupied only the mornings, Sir Thomas suggested 
that I paint in the afternoons, Sir Robert Holt, president of the Royal 
Bank of Canada, for which he offered the use of my improvised studio 
in his offices, and where I consequently spent some happy days. 

I arrived in London at the end of that year and threw myself into 
my work with the enthusiasm which comes of being one's own master 
again! knowing that the likeness is not the chief desideratum, permits 
of undivided attention to composition and execution. Under such 
conditions the hardest work is done. The dawn of each day brings 
new joys with that sense of independence and unrestraint which 
makes one doubly appreciate Pope's poetic sentence: 
Oh let me live my own and die so too. 


But evidently unclouded happiness on earth has fallen to no hu 
man's lot. When Bellona's trumpet blasted over the continents and 
kindled the passions of mankind, its echo reverberated even in the 
tranquillity of the studio; it resounded a thousandfold in that deli 
cate instrument the euphonies of which we distinguish by the name 
of Art. 

There was no more peace within oneself when everything outside 
breathed strife; the walls of the studio seemed like the barriers of a 
prison. The time had come when one felt that to linger on would 
mean to overstay one's welcome. 

And I returned to the States. 

People had, rightly, placed patriotism above all else, so I knew 
there were not many of my old friends who would have cared to see 

Clare Sheridan and her husband were different, and on a bright 
autumn day I went out into the country to bid them farewell. 
Their home was about an hour from London, a little house with a 
picturesque garden of wildflowers and rocks and a beautiful view. 
There I found them with their baby daughter Margaret. Wilfred 
Sheridan, had completed his training and was about to leave in a day or 
two to join his regiment in France. A short time later when a son and 
heir was born to him f Winston Churchill, Clare's cousin and then a 
member of the cabinet, succeeded in sending a messenger to the 
firing line with the dieering news. A few days later a bomb end 
ed his fine life. 

Shortly after, I received in America a letter from Harcourt, who 
had retired and been made a lord. He told me about what had 
occurred and later he wrote me again, saying that conditions were 
such that Clare Sheridan would have to earn her living and was 
going to try to do some modeling, which she had done all these years 
as an amateur, and asked for the loan of my London studio. I was 
happy to offer it f whereupon I received the following letter from her 
dated July 2, 1916: 


DEAR MR. Fucas, 

I can't get over it, that you will lend me your heavenly studio this winter 
to work in. It is too splendid and generous of you. My parents have taken 
a dear little house just inside the North Gate of Regents Park, and I am 
furnishing it with my furniture from "Mitchen" (as I am selling the little 
place), and we are all going to live together, for as you know probably, I de 
pend largely upon a Government pension, which isn't enough to do anything 

I am earning with my humble modeling efforts enough to dress the chil 
dren. And a little more besides. And I do want to work hard and get on. 
I shall also go to a school of art this winter. It will be splendid having an op 
portunity to work. Nothing else counts. The work and the children occupy 
one's thoughts, and it is better not to look back, for even happiness hurts 
to recall, when one knows it's past forever, and the future frightens one a 
little. So I just work and live in the present, and enjoy the babyhood of the 
children, and I thank God that we have not yet arrived at the education 

The present isn't bad at all. The parents are perfectly dear to me and 
they adore the babes, and they seem quite happy to have me back. Their 
lives were rather lonely, and the babes make all the difference. I think we 
shall all make ires bon menage together. 

The kindness of friends is overwhelming. I never realized before that 
friends really count in one's life. I thought friends were just incidents! 
But I found, on the contrary, that they are the very furniture of one's 
existence. . . . 

I am. staying here a few days with our beautiful friend, Marianne. 
Margaret is with me. I wish you could see her. She is growing too beau 
tiful ! I will in a short time send you a divine photo of her. 

Now about your studio. I will be most careful of everything. I shall 
work there every day, starting at nine or ten every morning, just coming 
home to lunch with the children, and then back again to work till dark. My 
air and exercise will be the walks to and fro. 

I hope you are happier in America, away from the war atmosphere that 
used to make you so unhappy. I don't think it is so bad now in England, or 
in London, as it used to be. One feels in the atmosphere a feeling of calm 
confidence and optimism. It's a hard struggle and by no means over yet, 
but one sees daylight ahead do you know what I mean? 

Besides, we British are a curious race, very slow to awaken, slow to grasp 
a situation, slow to move to action, hard to rouse, but once roused, once 
awakened, we become active, very thoroughly so, and our hearts and souls 


enter into business. We hardly talk of the end of the war now, or look for it. 
It seems to have become a habit, the war does, and the sacrifice and re 
straint and discomfort and the courage that are our everyday life now, we 
have got used to it ; we are getting into a habit of it. One can hardly remem 
ber what peace was like one can hardly fancy what peace will be like we 
are battling, and we can go on battling ! Everything is working like clock 
work. It's, so to speak, no trouble to go on! 

People talk quite calmly of the pictures and heirlooms that will leave the 
great families and be sold after the war to America, but no one cares, not 
even those who may have to part with them. Beating militarism is all that 
counts, and we will pay any price to accomplish it. Even the price of life. 

I am so proud of my splendid Wilfred who, with everything to live for 
love, happiness, children, and with so much beauty and charm just gave 
it aH for duty. Having never had any military training, he set to work to 
become a soldier, and became so efficient an officer that he was promoted to 
Captain in a regular battalion (not the new army) and was ordered to lead 
the bombing attack. He was splendid, bless him, and he is so much nearer 
to me now than when he was in the trenches that I can sincerely say that I 
am not lonely! 

Oh, I wish you could see my son a real monarch among babes. I love 
him passionately. I fed him for five months, all during those first miserable 
days, and he just made the whole difference to my life, and helped me to be 
calm and to have something still to live for. He has, in fact, already "done 
his bit!" 

But she could not make use of my workshop after all, much to my 
regret. It was filled with all my belongings, and I suppose it lacked 
the atmosphere conducive to work. So she took a studio nearby 
and began making portrait busts. At first some of her friends, 
mindful of the gallantry of her husband, gave her orders. Soon, 
however, she encountered that prejudice which everyone experiences 
who attempts to do anything, no matter how sincere his intentions 
are. People prefer to patronize those who have "a reputation behind 
them and a future before them* 1 I assume she had plenty of sitters 
but no buyers. Moreover, portraiture in sculpture is not popular. 
To many, the lack of color is a detriment; it makes them think of a 
memorial. But Clare Sheridan possesses the necessary talent and 

Ethelmary Oakland 
The Child Actress 

Children of Mrs. Sidney Whelan 
Portraits in Oil 


can make a likeness, and a good likeness at that. Her work has 
vigor and freshness and, as displayed in the little bust of her boy, 
sentiment, too. Equipped with such gifts she has greater justifica 
tion for selecting sculpture as her profession than many others have. 

When I heard she was coming to the United States, I was more 
than pleased. A couple of weeks had passed before she could find 
time to come to my studio. When she did, she confided in me her 
sorrows. People would not take her ambitions in art seriously 
enough; and as that seemed to hurt her most, I took it upon myself 
to write to people I knew could do something for her. One letter 
was to the editor of a popular magazine which caters to the vanity of 
the fair sex, who entertained her ostentatiously. Another was to a 
lady well-known in society and as a sculptress. I had greater hopes 
of her because she was known to be the patron of deserving artists 
and understood how thorny the road is. Not so long ago I saw an 
exhibition of her work. In some pieces are bared all the difficulties 
with which she had to contend, while others show the execution of a 
master's hand. It seemed hardly credible that the same fingers 
should have fashioned these sculptures so different in quality, con 
ception, execution and rendering of form. Appreciating from my 
own experience that the incessant labor requires "a long pull, a 
strong pull and a pull all together/' I had cause to feel that my en 
treaties would not be in vain. But if silence is golden, theirs was 
not of that kind which would have helped my poor Clare. 

It makes me smile now when I remember how some of the busiest 
persons wasted precious hours hanging about my studio when she 
posed for her portrait, just as if they had nothing else in the world 
to do. If instead, all the masters of the Renaissance had been alive 
and assembled there, those same men would not have had a moment 
of their valuable time to spare them. 

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won. 


"To hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. " (Shakespeare.) 

HE mention of Clare Sheridan's posing brings me to 
a rather engaging subject: sitters and sittings. 

I would divide sitters into two classes: those 
who know how and like to pose, and those who 
do not. If a man has a family whom he tenderly 
loves and they persistently beg him to have his portrait painted, 
he will give thought to the subject and perhaps conclude that, 
painful as the operation may promise to be and comparable only 
to a -visit to the dentist, still he must go through with it. Since his 
daily occupations do not allow for much more time outside of the 
office than the trip there and back, with an occasional fling on the golf 
course, he does not know how to go about selecting the artist. There 
are two ways he may do this: consult a friend or a dealer. To go to 
an exhibition would rarely occur to him. The friend will probably 
advise him more impartially than will the dealer. He may refer 
Mm to an artist who has done a portrait he can show him. In such 
cases, the only consideration is the likeness; it does not matter if it is 
painted over a photograph or is the work of a dauber; in fact, these 
have the best chance. 

Father will make a quite businesslike appointment to meet the 
artist and will probably greet him with the remark that, "I don't 
know much about art but my people want my portrait. How much 
will it cost?" The artist names a sum which seems reasonable and 
the poses begin. He is usually as prompt in his appointments for 



sittings as he is in Ms other transactions. He will rush in, jump 
right up on his martyr's throne and light a cigar. " You don't mind 
if I smoke?" This is only a matter of courtesy, for the cigar is 
already lighted and is securely imbedded in the corner of his mouth. 
He pulls out a paper and, if the artist can allow him to, starts to 
read. Generally at this point it is advisable to suggest deferring the 
reading. All this places a sheet of ice between the sitter and the 
artist. The sitting over, he rushes out as precipitately as he rushed 
in, without even a glance at the canvas. It is not a subject of interest 
but of necessity. 

After a few sittings, he will bring his wife and kiddies along. The 
first thing his wife says is: " Listen, John, but why do you. look so 
serious? Mr. Artist, can't you make him smile? " 

"Why, yes, of course I can," says the painter. And he takes 
the brush and makes a feint at painting a few strokes. "Now, isn't 
that better? " 

"Just a little more, Mr. Artist, please." He smiles faintly and 
does as he is directed. " Now, please stop; I don't want you to spoil 
it." She holds up the baby and asks: "Who is that?" The baby 
says "Popper," and that settles it* Everybody is happy, the artist 
more than anyone else. 

Then there is the other class those who know how. To them 
the portrait is a matter of importance, of concern, and worthy of 
consideration. They may consult with some dealer, obtain a few 
names, make appointments and carefully scrutinize the work sub 
mitted. They discuss it intelligently and at the same time measure 
the mentality of the artist. Price is a matter of secondary importance 
and is probably not even mentioned. The main item is the quality 
of the work. 

Once the question of the artist has been determined, the sitter 
will subordinate everything else to that one all-important under 
taking. He will give the artist an opportunity of becoming better 
acquainted and to familiarize himself with his personality. He will 


inspect the progress after each, sitting and discuss it. In fact, he 
will go out of his way to convince the painter that he is his partner, 
for the time being, and not merely a subject. These are the portraits 
which compensate for the humiliations suffered from the first- 
described type, and they give the artist his chance, if he knows how 
to avail himself of his good fortune. 

To choose portrait painting for a livelihood is quite different from 
following it as a means of producing a masterpiece and less meritori 
ous. The more strongly the sitter senses the independence of the 
artist, the more anxious he will be that it be not exercised in his case. 
When a portrait painter is great enough to be in a position to "pick 
and choose' 1 from among the aspirants who consider it an honor to 
sit for him, then he may be sure that they will endeavor to give him 
that intelligent posing which in itself often constitutes success or 

It is far more difficult to paint women than men. Their features 
are less rugged and pronounced; if not, the artist must know how to 
subdue them. While the portrait of a man should be a vigorous, 
bold and fearless piece of charactemation, that of a woman must be 
a more poetic and harmonious, composition of color and grouping. 

Line is most important and receives less attention usually than 
it should. So many portraits are ruined on account of the angular 
placing of the arms, which prevents an agreeable flow of line. When 
they are permitted to fall stiffly and unnaturally, they more plainly 
show up the difficulties encountered in painting them. 

The story goes that at a dinner his fair neighbor asked a famous 
portrait painter: "Will you please tell me which is the most difficult 
in a portrait, the mouth, the nose or the eye? " 

"The other/' was his prompt reply, meaning the problem of 
matching the two harmoniously. 

Women are generally the better sitters because they seem more 
patient, and also because of a certain pardonable vanity. One often 
hears said: " I do not mind if it is not so like me, but please make me 

Girl with Fan 
Statuette in Marble 



good looking. I want to be handed down to my children and grand 
children as an attractive ancestor." 

To satisfy some people is a task beyond the power of even the 
gods. Apropos of that, a well-known portrait painter on the day of 
final inspection arranges the canvas on the easel and leaves his studio. 
He thus spares himself the necessity of listening to a distressing num 
ber of unreasonable comments. 

Sublime an art as it is, judging from the splendid examples handed 
down to us, it becomes the lowest form if practiced by those who 
mechanically turn jut one face after another, only because it finds 
a ready and overpaid market on account of the appeal to humanity's 
most sensitive trait vanity. And those are the artists to be pitied 
most, for while the material profit may bring them even luxuries, 
they are actually only lookers-on in that busy little community of 
those who create and produce, who are a part of that noble edifice 
whose spire soars ever upward 'til it reaches into posterity. 


"Wrapped in the solitude of his own originality." (Charles Phillips.) 

[N December, 1918, the entire Beaux Arts building was 
in a state of "wild excitement, when it became known 
that Mr. Maeterlinck was on his way to the United 
States and had accepted an invitation to be the guest 
of Mr. Anderson. The studio-suite he was to occupy 
adjoined my own, so my eagerness increased as the day approached 
when 1 might be permitted to peep behind the veil of mystery which 
had always shrouded his personality. Long before his arrival, the 
apartment resembled a flower-garden. 

At last he came with his party, and after that there was no end 
to the visitors and invitations. His manager was a man I had met 
before. His name was Russell. Originally he had been a teacher 
of singing in London where I had seen him last in the home of Mrs. 
Carl Meyer. Through some chain of circumstances he became the 
manager of Mr. Maeterlinck's American tour, and he was fully con 
scious of the importance of his position. No one could see or talk 
with Mr Maeterlinck without Russell's knowledge and consent, and 
so Mrs. Maeterlinck was always and everywhere accompanied by 
Mrs. Russell. No invitation was accepted unless it was extended 
to his adlatus. 

Soon differences developed between the American agent and the 
European agent, and poor Maeterlinck was the sufferer. 

On Christmas Day, Russell rang my bell and asked if he might 
invite Mr. and Mrs. Maeterlinck and himself and his wife for lunch- 



eon. I need not say that for such a pleasure, I would have offered the 
RusseUs warm hospitality for the rest of their stay. Fortunately, I 
had a French cook who was equal to the occasion of doing honor to 
my illustrious guest. He entered shortly before the luncheon hour. 
He is quite tall, fully six feet, just on the verge of portliness the 
French so fittingly call it " embonpoint." He has a round, smooth 
shaven face and grayish hair, apparently beginning to thin but so 
combed over from the side as to cover the head. He has a well 
shaped nose, determined mouth and a pair of eyes which look far 
away into the distance. He wore a most attractive white flannel 
coat with blue stripes, which was becoming to him. 

His wife came in with him. She was very young, perhaps twenty- 
three or twenty-four years old, dainty and petite. She reminded one 
immediately of a little model from a dressmaker's shop. Her hair 
was dark golden, but Nature seemed to have had a little assistance 
here. She was well gowned, polite and rather shy. They all went 
first into the studio where Maeterlinck showed a keen interest and, 
in a quiet voice, made comments and asked questions. To the 
others, the studio meant little beyond the fact that it was a well 
appointed room. 

Luncheon was announced, and I selfishly seated the guests so 
that the poet faced me. It was a temptation to study that face 
which was a world in itself. The conversation was in French. He 

11 Monsieur, I am glad to have the opportunity to escape for once 
from the round of festivities which are so trying to me." 

And I: "I must apologize for the simplicity of my entertainment, 
for which I have but one excuse to offer it is Christmas Day and 
tonight I am dining out. But I do hope that there may be other 
occasions when the master will permit me to show him some more 
befitting courtesy." 

He became more communicative. He inquired about the sur 
roundings of New York. One of his admirers had placed at Ms 


disposal an automobile, but it was a closed one and used principally 
by the ladies. I ventured to ask if lie would care to liave me take 
him round in my little car and show him a few places of interest. 
I told him of the beautiful open-air theater owned by a friend of 
mine, near Huntington, Long Island, and of the performances given 
there for the Red Cross during the war. I told him of the stage, 
which is actually an island separated from the audience by a little 
stream, on which there are swans majestically floating about; and of 
the improvised curtains of steam rising from pipes concealed about 
the stage, which is lighted by a multitude of cleverly arranged color 
effects. He was eager to see it and ready to come with me. When 
Russell learned that mine was only a runabout, he interposed an 
objection right there and said: "The master cannot go. He must 
use all the spare time to work on his English with my son." 

There was no conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Maeterlinck. 
He treated her as if she were a mere child; and indeed, she seemed 
not to have the faintest idea of who and what he was. 

The talk turned to Poldowska, which is the name under which the 
gifted daughter of Weniawsky writes her charming songs. She had 
just composed some lovely music to Maeterlinck's poem "Et s'il 
revenait un jour/' far more beautiful than that written by others, 
but he said he took little interest in music, that all the rights for 
composing songs to his words had been disposed of and when she 
came to his cloister for his permission, he had to refuse her. 

When luncheon was over, Russell took me aside and asked me 
not to invite Maeterlinck, as he could not arrange the time for it. 
Obviously I had put myself in his bad graces when I suggested the 

Soon after, the unpleasantness commenced for Maeterlinck. 
Russell's jealousies placed him in awkward situations. One after 
another the veils which had shrouded him in poetic mystery were 
torn asunder by a ruthless hand. Poor Maeterlinck was not aware 
of it until too late. The visitors became few and fewer, and to judge 

Clare Sheridan 

Miss Reba Owen 


from the peace on my floor, one would have assumed he had already 
left. To my unspeakable joy I met him one evening in the <x>rridor 
when we were both waiting for the elevator. It was about the 
second week in February. 

"Hello, Mr. Fuchs," he said. "How are you and what are you 
doing? How is it that one never sees you? " 

U I hardly ever move out of nay studio," I replied. "I find there 
all my happiness in my work." 

He heaved a deep sigh and said, "I can appreciate your feelings. 
I only wish I were back home in my own studio, too." 

While descending, I took advantage of the opportunity to ask 
him to sign my album, which I explained I had not had the courage 
to do after Russell's admonition. A few days later he came in and 
did this for me. 

In June of that year Clare Sheridan and I dined at a house where 
the company was so dull that we entered into a conspiracy to leave 
as soon as we saw a propitious moment. Poldowska was there too, 
so we decided we should have a little music in my studio. On the 
way, as we passed the Capitol Theater Building, I recalled that \ 
had promised a friend to go in and listen to some worthwhile singing 
in his apartment. We all went in. As we entered we heard the 
strains of a French song accompanied by the piano. The singer 
was a lady of middle age with golden hair, artistically gowned in 
two halves of blue velvet held together by silk cords. The tightness 
of the lacing accentuated her graceful lines. She sang beautifully 
but was unable to repress an emotion which emphasized the signifi 
cance of the words. The audience was small and intimate. There 
was atmosphere and understanding and, to the delight of her hearers, 
she gave full expression to her feelings. She was Madame Georgette 
Le Blanc, Maeterlinck's first wife, who, after twenty happy years 
spent with him, gave him his freedom so that his happiness might 
continue unclouded. 


A most captivating man who was almost within reach of but who 
still escaped my aggressive pencil, is Belasco. He received me in 
his tusculum over his theater; and a museum it was. From the 
instant I met him I was fascinated with the prospect of sketching 
him among his treasures. His face is clean shaven with sensitively 
marked features crowned by a wealth of silvery hair. He was in 
black velvet and wore a collar which effectively denoted his position 
of high priest in his temple of art. 

He greeted me with cordiality, saying, "I have recently had a 
sort of premonition that an artist was coming into my life and that 
he would do something of me/' 

I was naturally elated, and replied, "I am happy to have the 
privilege of placing my art at the service of such an eminent man, 
a prince in Ms domain/ 1 

He bade me follow into his anteroom, where he presented me to 
his secretary in these words: "Curry, this is Mr. Fuchs who wishes 
to make a portrait of me. Please see that the necessary time is made 
available, and that the sittings are undisturbed." 

His behavior was so adulatory that the suspicion arose within me 
that perhaps he was confusing my name with that of another artist 
whose work was much before the public just then. But to make 
certain that such was not the case, I invited him to my studio to see 
some of my accomplishments. He accepted and named day and 
hour. When the time came, some important matter prevented him 
from keeping the appointment. Another date was named by Curry 
but not quite so definitely. In fact, the visit never materialized, 
nor did the portrait for my album. The excuses became more 
vague engaged on a new manuscript, or a new production or out 
of town, or indisposed, or any of a thousand and one reasons which 
every portraitist recognizes as the product of an unwilling sitter's 
fertile brain and finally they ceased altogether. One member of 
his staff, a young woman of unusual ability, afterwards came to the 


studio frequently and tried to impress upon me what a busy man 
Mr. Belasco was, working day and night. . . . 

I regretted the chance I had missed, or rather, that had not been 
quite within my grasp. Upon making inquiries about my qualifica 
tions as an artist, Mr. Belasco must have been advised to let me 
alone. I was after all not the subject of his dreams. And shrouding 
himself once more in that mystery which so well becomes him, he 
drew the curtain between him and me which separates our two 
worlds and relegated each back into its own. 

It is a lofty vocation to impart to the rising generation what has 
been handed down to us as a sacred patrimony, but comparatively 
few possess the gift of expressing themselves with sufficient com 
prehensiveness so as to enable the pupil to derive the fullest benefit 
from, the teachings of his master. Many great artists are quite 
incapable of adequate expression and teach solely by demonstration. 
Some however can explain how to do things altho" unable to do them 
themselves. For the beginner, it would seem to me that this latter 
type is preferable, and the former for the advanced student. But 
the most we learn from our fellow-student, inferior as he may be. 

The Beaux Arts Institute of Design maintains a free school of 
sculpture for beginners and advanced students. Well-known artists 
are invited to visit and give their services during a period covering 
three months, and this has been productive of excellent results. It 
induces the student to "be himself/' 

One of my pupils was a Japanese. Viscount Kato, the present 
Prime Minister of Japan, sent me the son of a friend who wished to 
study in England. It was an interesting experience. He, like so 
many of his countrymen, had a facility for copying most minutely 
and precisely, but he showed little imagination. After six months 
he returned to Japan. I came to America. A few years later he 
revisited Europe and traveled via New York. He brought several 
pictures which were so incomprehensible that lie found it expedi- 


ent to issue an explanatory pamphlet, from which I quote a few 
extracts : 

We are now standing at the critical moment of humanity. There are 
few born now whose spiritual and intellectual capacities represent the ages 
of a thousand years hence. ... In my art I have attempted to reveal 
the processes that have led my art from artificial creations to super-artificial- 
growing creations, and so I have styled it a mediumistic school. 

The more advanced painting of the present age has so far progressed as 
to be able to delineate mental phenomena. But these schools of painting 
axe unable to exhibit anything decisively and analytically as to the origin of 
all things, and the substance of the mind. I who found it impossible to corn- 
form to this state of unreason have at last arrived at this, my art, Reitherism 
or Spiritico-etheric art; I was thus saved. 

Reitherism is an artification of human life, a beautification of all things 
material and immaterial. It is a beautiful manifestation of Spirit, et cetera, 
et cetera. 

He came from a distinguished family, spoke and wrote the English 
language fluently with a touch of poetry. He was one of the few 
playmates of the Crown Prince during his schooldays, and while he 
was our guest in London, he received many calls from prominent 
Japanese who vindicated what some one had said about each country 
being almost like every other when judged by its upper ten thousand. 
Being of independent means, he was unhampered in working out his 
own salvation in art. Here is one of his letters to me: 


I am more than sorry I worried you so much. I hope you will forgive 
me, I have found much courage through your letter. The man ought to 
stand indipendently on this world. It is more respectable to wear broken 
jackets by one's own hand than beautiful dress by other's help. Please for 
give me to ask you so many troubles. I hope you will understand my inner 
truth. And let me come and see you soon. 

Yours ever, 

T. K. 

La Dame aux CEillefs 

Semone d'Herlys 
The Beautiful French Model 

Little Jane and Her Mother 


The " troubles " were that, after his return from Japan, I advised him 
to work more and play less. I must admit that when I saw the re 
sults of my teachings, I decided to give up. My little pupil had given 
tip too. 

He gave an exhibition in New York, which no one could under 
stand. All day he waited for visitors and when one would finally 
arrive, he would try to explain what his weird pictures meant, only 
to have the person disappear before he was well started. 

One Christmas Day he brought me what he considered a spiritual 
representation of myself, which I reproduce herewith because, not 
only do I think it is a good likeness of my features but, in so far as 
I am able to divine, of my soul as well. 

He wandered restlessly over the globe; when I last heard from 
him he was at home once more. Since then, I have learned that he 
was one of the earthquake victims. But long before, he was morally 
lost to art. He belonged to one of those numerous societies which 
sprang up in Japan and wanted to modernize everything, adapting 
Europe as their standard. Sometimes he would send me an illus 
trated catalog of the Imperial Academy Exhibition in Tokyo. Looking 
through all these reproductions of paintings and sculptures, done with a 
Japanese mind and a European surf ace, causes me to appreciate the 
importance of every country, like every human being, preserving its 
own individuality. If Europeans were to work in the spirit of the 
Orientals, the same feelings would no doubt be produced in their 
minds. It would seem that the whole movement is to be regretted; 
they may lose their own art without gaining another worthy of cul 


"Earth's noblest thing, a woman perfected." (Lowell.) 

[FTER my return to the States I felt that the time had 
come when I should get away as much as possible from 
commissions. Generally our best work is that done by 
inspiration instead of to order. I was also anxious to 
know the influence of my many years of painting on 
my sculpture and if it would have the effect I hoped for. I had several 
sketches for pieces of scope. One was for a group of two figures, which 
presented a problem that I had rarely seen successfully solved: When 
is a composition suited to the round and when for execution in the 
flat? It seems to me that when a group or a single figure has more 
than one view worthy of perpetuation, on account of its flow of line, 
distribution of masses, or its expression, then the round is the form 
dearly indicated. Where the theme presents one good view, all the 
varieties of bas-relief are offered, from the highest, bold, masses like 
the frieze at the Parthenon to the lowest, the flattest, almost a mere 

Rodin's Kiss and Ms Hand of God will illustrate my meaning. 
These are a splendid solution of a composition in the round. Fully 
to appreciate it, one must go carefully around it and admire the 
multiplicity of lines which are intertwined in endless variations. 
His Age of Bronze and The Thinker, although single figures only, are 
no less admirable compositions for the round ; but I doubt if his Citizen 
of Calais or Ms Three Shadows would not have been better suited to 
Mgh relief, emphasizing the one view as its excuse for existing. 

The Laocoon group, and The Dance by Carpeaux, at the Opera in 



Paris, are other examples of groups in the round, the first perhaps 
showing the more superb harmony of line and grouping* 

In my composition which I called The Group and which I decided 
to execute in almost life size, this was the problem which interested 
me most. And as it has always been my habit to work on a variety 
of subjects at the same time and so preserve the freshness of eye, I 
chose a few friends for portrait busts, the men mostly for bronze and 
the women for terra cotta or marble. A girl of about eighteen, who 
posed professionally and had excellent features, sat for a head for me 
which I executed in pink marble. This stone, which really is of granite 
formation, very hard and brittle, came from the quarries which fur 
nished the walls for the Dome of Milan. From time to time a piece 
sufficiently free from black veins would find its way into the sculptor's 
studio. Such pieces have a beautiful pink shade almost flesh color, 
which is still further enhanced by a certain transparency. In order to 
work such stone, one must resort to the drill whenever feasible, on 
account of the extreme brittleness, but the result recompenses a 
hundredfold for all the hardships it entails. This head I called 
Tamara and set it on a base of Parian marble, whose bluish-gray still 
further enhanced the warmth of the pink. 

Almost simultaneously, I chiseled a Mother and Child. Though 
the generations succeed each other with monotonous regularity, the 
beauty of this relation retains its purity throughout the ages. It has 
ever been the refuge of the artist, the poet, the musician when he seeks 
a nucleus around which to spin his tissue of lines or rhymes or 
chords. To Melchers it offered countless motifs for his paintings and, 
old as it is, somehow the Interpretation is always new and young. 

A vital question to an artist is, quite naturally, his models. What 
studies of nudes could Rembrandt not have made if he had had the 
use of one such model as we have today in such number. Even with 
out this assistance, however, his etchings are incomparable and we 
look at them with unmixed delight. The lifting of art to a higher 


plane tends more and more to place artists in a class by themselves, 
through whose eyes we are learning to see and understand Nature. 

Ever since the beginning of civilization, the development of mind 
and body has been the primary aim. The Greeks were the first whose 
intellectual development soared so high that their influence in art is 
still felt. To them the human body was the Ultima Thule of beauty. 
If their statues are still beyond our comprehension, it is because they 
viewed nature differently. Their custom of transacting their affairs 
in their vast bathing establishments, was the means of familiarizing 
them, with the entire body as completely as we are now acquainted 
with only the head and hands. 

But they were not content merely to reproduce the body; they 
aimed at its idealization. The result was a product of knowledge, 
science, and imagination. In construing their gods, they created a 
type far beyond the reality. With their remarkable intellects, they 
built a figure with all the natural and actual characteristics, but in 
such manner as to indicate the road to perfection. Their facial angle 
of almost ninety degrees indicated that the largest space was reserved 
for the brain, 

Of equal importance was their establishment of the relation be 
tween head and body which they fixed at the scale of one to eight, and 
that is the standard at which we aim today, imparting the sense of 
harmony, so noticeable in their statues. 

With all due reverence to our models and their beauty, youth and 
intelligence,, we are not yet arrived at that stage where in simply copy 
ing them, we can produce perfection. As a race we are no doubt im 
proving. Since we have taken up the culture of the body with gusto, 
the human figure has shown marked advancement, due to the differ 
ence in climatic conditions, although not in equal degree in every 

In Italy most of the models come from a little village called Sara- 
cinesco, situated on the slope of the Alban, hills. The act of ascending 
and descending these hillocks has produced a superb race. 

Mrs. Lewis Chandler 
When Mrs. Philip Benkard 

Mrs. Edward W. Clark, 3rd 
of Philadelphia 


The closer we approach the Poles, the slower the development. 
Girls of Sweden and Norway preserve their youthful figures in a re 
markable degree. 

In Rome I was fortunate in that among the callers at my studio 
was a young French girl, who was willing to help me out. The pathos 
of my Mother-Love group made a strong appeal to her and, although 
the pose was too severe a tax to be held for more than a few minutes, 
she gave me ample time to make a study of its main points. 

As to the child in the group, as soon as the word was passed that 
an. artist needed a baby model, Italy being the land of children, my 
studio was the scene of an actual invasion. 

If the baby seems to rest naturally and easily in its mother's arms, 
it is chiefly attributable to imagination and studies. To behold the 
group in its entirety as I had conceived it was not possible on account 
of the arduity of the pose. 

The English girl has generations behind her who went in for some 
sort of sport and bequeathed her a slender and supple body, though 
her feet and hands are more generous in size than those of other 
countries, where golf and tennis came into vogue much later. 

The French model is quite another type. In France the masses 
are just beginning to show an interest in physical development and 
sport. Prior to this it was limited to some few men who restricted 
their exercise to fencing. Consequently the bodies of French girls are 
not yet so well proportioned as are those of the English. In speaking of 
proportion, I refer chiefly to two items the length of the limbs in com 
parison to the whole body, and the relation of the head to the figure. 

What the French model lacks in perfection of form is fully offset 
by the quality of her posing. I do not mean that she sits motionlessly 
or more quietly, but I allude to her grasp of the spirit the artist wants 
to inject into his work, and for the expression of which the model is 
half responsible. The French girl with her inborn love for art, in 
herent in the entire nation, will put herself out to help the artist, and 
so identify herself with his work and his success, if possible. 


Of course there axe exceptions. Occasionally in one individual 
will be united all those attributes of mind, face and physique which 
constitute the embodiment of the perfect model. Such a one came 
into my studio one day. She was a French girl who had been famous 
as a dancer in Paris. Shortly after the war broke out she came with 
her mother to America to escape some of those hardships of a war- 
ridden country which were already affecting her profession. 

Owing to her meager knowledge of English she was unsuccessful 
in securing an engagement, so she joined the ranks of the desperate 
ones who, unable to earn a living otherwise, knock at the artist's door, 
certain of sympathy, understanding and help. She was of a rare 
beauty; ivory skin, a symmetrical body, even lovelier than suggested 
by her youth; her golden hair contrasted with dark brown eyes, her 
sensitive mouth and finely chiseled nose all conspired in the con 
summation of one of Nature's masterpieces. 

Strangely enough, beauty of face and figure are seldom combined 
in one person. An artist who has a good model for the head will often 
waste time and effort in persuading her to pose for the figure, only to 
be sadly disappointed at the imperfections disclosed. It would seem 
to be the operation of that fundamental law of compensation toward 
an equal distribution of gifts. With the return of that happy day 
when we shall have learned to look upon the body with the un 
prejudiced eye of the ancient Greeks, the hidden beauty revealed to 
us will be startling, and the admiration hitherto denied to its pos 
sessors will be meted out to them in fullest measure. 

My French model posed with understanding; even her criticism 
had a value on account of its spontaneity and unpretentiousness, be 
cause she had that flair for the best in art, peculiar to the French and 
Italians. And she was prompt and regular in keeping, her appoint 
ments. A girl with such qualities was an offering from the gods, but 
I felt that they would not let me have her long. In France she could 
not have come my way at all, and I knew that it was only a matter of 
time when the enterprising eye of some manager would espy her. And 


so it was. The genial Morris Gest, that blending of vision and expedi 
ency, discovered her all too soon and made a place for her in his pro 
duction of the Cocoanut Grove on the Century Theater roof. For 
him no obstacle to her appearance existed. What need for Semone 
to speak in halting English when she could smile in perfect French? 
Again, why try to adorn a figure that required no embellishment, that 
was in itself an exquisite garment? She lay in a hammock as the cur 
tain arose, and played her silent r61e so attractively, and she so com 
pletely filled the eye of the spectator that he hardly noticed anything 
else on the stage. 

When the theatrical manager shows an interest, the artist may as 
well resign himself to the loss of his model. The mere sound of the 
word " rehearsal" is like a call to arms ringing through the studio. 
At this word of command the poor girl gives up everything else to 
spend weary hours, days and weeks holding down, a chair in the 
breezy atmosphere of the stage if she is a newcomer there. At the end 
of four or five weeks the munificent reward is a glorious thirty-five or 
forty dollars a week, out of which she must repay what she has bor 
rowed to keep her going during all her idle time. That insidious lure of 
the boards, and the fervent hope of some day being discovered as a 
Pavlowa or a Galli-Curci! Still one must admire these brave, strug 
gling souls who go on year after year, keeping up their courage, spirits 
and hopes. 

So many artists complain of the dearth of good models, but the 
fault is largely in themselves. There is a proverb "A good name 
goes far and a bad one farther." If an artist has a reputation for 
sincerity he may have all the models he needs, and more. They are 
numerous and come from everywhere. Jealousy seems not to exist. 
A girl who enjoys her work in a studio will bring her friends, and so, 
one way and another, one may choose from all types and ages. Some 
times a sylph from the opera ballet or even from Ziegfeld's company 
finds her way into the artist's workshop. Not all are attracted by the 
monetary compensation; some have a genuine liking for the artistic 


side of life. They may have a figure which they feel is " here today 
and gone tomorrow " and are willing to have it perpetuated through 
the medium of art. 

Quite recently I worked with a young dancer from the Follies who 
delighted in the most difficult poses and in her eager enthusiasm in 
sisted on curtailing the periods of rest. To such a girl the fee is a 
secondary consideration. 

The remuneration for posing varies in different countries and for 
different models. Like everything else, it has increased materially in 
the last few years. As students in Rome, we paid five francs a day, 
which was generous, at that time equivalent to about a dollar. For 
this sum the models cheerfully devoted a few hours to cleaning the 
studio or cooking, if need be. As time went on, the price increased to 
three or four dollars a day, and is now five to ten. On account of 
the scarcity of really good models, some artist would engage one to 
work for him exclusively. I was never in favor of this custom, not 
solely because of the selfish feature of it but also because of the 
rapidity with which the figure alters in its youthful transitions. 
Sometimes even before a big statue is completed the model's features 
have changed, Too slavishly copying from life, however excellently 
executed, imparts to the finished work the character of a study and 
does not reveal the freedom it should. As in riding a bicycle where 
absolute equilibrium is essential to prevent vacillation, so too in art 
complete coordination is necessary in living up to the dictum: "The 
perfection of art is to conceal art." 

The sculptor who cannot draw has to make his sketch in some 
what unwieldly material. Alterations are complicated, tiring and 
costly, so that not infrequently he resolves to compromise with his 
conscience, to the detriment of the quality of his work. Were he 
accustomed to chalk and pencil, he could fix on paper with a few 
lines some good features of a new model, as well as contemplated 
changes for comparison with the work as far as it has progressed. 

Often the criticism of a friend in whose opinion we have faith 

cc Nondas" 
From a Lithograph 

, - >^;V 

Studies of Nudes 


will prompt us to dig right into the clay and make changes we after 
ward regret. 

America supplies the best and most useful models; here one finds 
that delightful admixture of beauty, proportion and intelligence. 
This can only be attributed to the climate, which is responsible for 
many differences in the various countries. 

In the Latin countries the tendency is still toward bodies too long 
for harmonious proportion, but in this respect each generation shows 
a marked improvement in the American girl. 

With all due respect to Mr. Ziegf eld and his judgment of feminine 
pulchritude, I should not like to be obliged to accept as the epitome of 
perfection any member of his ballet or chorus chosen at random, any 
more than he would care to have me choose his galaxy. Dancing has 
made their legs rather muscular, and their breasts tend often to over 
development, which in the English girl are among her chief beauties. 

For years I had cherished an idea which I hoped some day I would 
be able to put into form. I only awaited the advent of a suitable 
model. My conception was of a young girl standing with arms out 
stretched and eyes closed, listening to a distant voice "The Call 
from the Beyond.' 1 

It was at the beginning of the war when I was working hard in my 
London studio in the attempt to dispel my unhappiness, that a frail 
little woman entered, accompanied by a girl of about fourteen with 
blue eyes, red cheeks and a wealth of dark hair flowing over her shoul 
ders. She was a widow with three daughters, who had brought her 
youngest child in the hope of obtaining some posing for her. While 
painting a study of the girl's sadly beautiful features, I became more 
and more convinced that here was the longed-for model. 

One day I mentioned this to the mother. I explained my idea and 
then hesitatingly showed her my sketches. After consulting with the 
other daughters, to my intense joy the little girl came in and took 
the pose, without even a word. It was so momentous to me that I 


could hardly await each coining day to restime where I had left off the 
day before. Like an apparition she would arrive, take her pose, her 
face enveloped in unspeakable sadness, her thoughts far away, and 
rarely uttering a word. 

While still at work on my model in day, a lady with her young 
daughter visited me. She seemed to take a lively interest in the va 
rious objects about my studio, but for the young girl there existed only 
the statue on which I was working, and in which she was completely 
absorbed. She asked question upon question about it and the title 
and its meaning. Next morning I found a note slipped tinder my 
door, with these verses: 

Listen, through the woodland valleys 

Comes a whisper to my ear, 

Like some fairy voices calling 

From a wondrous higher sphere, 

Calling softly, ever softly. 

Let me follow, O my heart, 

To hear the tale of mystic beauty 

Of which this world is but a part, 

Let me follow and respond 

To the Call from the Beyond. 

The little girl who posed for the statue has died long since, a vic 
tim of the malady that carried off her father and her mother "that 
dire disease, whose ruthless power withers the beauty's transient 
flower. 1 ' 

A few years ago when the Architectural League held its spring ex 
hibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I ventured to send my 
Call from the Beyond. It was assigned a flattering position and 
commended by those who distinguish between sentiment and senti 
mentality. Also, the membership committee of the League extended 
to me an invitation to join, a compliment which I fully appreciated 
because, in the old country, we have learned to wait for these honors 
to be offered to us. It may take a lifetime or two, but their value 
seems the greater for having been, presented. 


"And Beauty draws us by a single hair/* (Pope.) 

was in May, 1914, that I became restless and decided 
tliat it would be an excellent plan to take a hurried 
trip through Europe, stopping only at the principal 
centers of art to bathe my eyes in beauty. I would 
take in Berlin, Munich, Vienna, Venice, Milan, 
Genoa and back through Paris, which should be sufficient to en 
lighten me about the progress of art and free me from those prejudices 
which we so easily form in our own favor if we work too long without 

At Berlin my old master, Schaper, was still alive, and welcomed 
me warmly. Since I had met him in Pittsburgh, where he had been 
sent by the Kaiser as his representative at the opening of the first in 
ternational exhibition at the Carnegie Institute, our relations had 
changed from master and pupil to that of brethren in art. In his 
studio, to my regret, I noted that he had altogether discontinued his 
work. He had outlived himself in his art. His classic style, which 
found its supreme expression in his monument of Goethe in the 
Tiei^arten, brought him not only the order of the Red Eagle but the 
order of Merit as well. This order was not conferred in approval of 
the taste of the All-Highest War Lord, but was bestowed by the chap 
ter itself. The membership is limited to treaty-three, and whenever 
a vacancy occurs they choose the successor. It can readily be com 
prehended what an unusual honor this is, because the selection is the 
judgment of artists, themselves appointed in like manner. 



I found Schaper depressed, and I pitied him* He was like many 
other sculptors who regard their profession solely from a commercial 
viewpoint, and he had continued to build monuments to Emperors 
William and Frederick, which, in his prime, were erected all over the 
country and were now, one by one, sinking into oblivion. Also, his 
primary objective, the vast fortune he had set aside for his family, 
after the war dwindled to almost nothing with the depreciation of 
the currency. 

His most gifted pupil, a classmate of mine, looked much farther 
ahead and soon aligned himself with the modernists. All of Germany 
was already imbued with a sense of its greatness. In school the Ger 
mans were taught that they were the leaders of the world. They also 
wanted to prove that they were the leaders in art. The good old art 
was not good enough. France was starting all sorts of isms. It must 
be outdone. Everything had to be superlative. In fact, the word 
11 superman " originated in Germany. And this young man, with his 
opinions and his genuine talent, forged ahead. At a comparatively 
early age he had surpassed his master in honors, commissions and 
popularity. When I went to see him, after years of separation, he was 
polite, but with that air of superiority which is better concealed even 
when justified. 

After exchanging a few opinions about art in general, he ex 
claimed, "How can you talk about art? Last spring I went to London 
to see the National Gallery with my own eyes, but it made me so sick 
that I left it hurriedly, and I never want to see it again." 

Well, that precisely expressed my feelings about him, too, and 
that's just what I did. I left for Munich the next day. But these 
views of his extended to music, the stage, and even architecture. 
Only a few weeks ago an architect from Berlin sent me here some de 
signs for furniture, and asked if I could not give him the names of 
some other architects in America whom he would regularly supply 
with new ideas. He was also willing to consider accepting a chair in 
modern architecture at one of the leading universities if I could se- 

Portrait of Mr. Fuchs by his Japanese Pupil 
This is not only a likeness of his features but supposed to be of Ms soul as well 

Etching of an Italian Woman 

i^y< ""'"r |E>4 t ,',), ( i >1 

^' ? ' ^ U* rM V^*wA.^4w, k.l 


cure a contract for a period of years. That it might prove interesting 
for those who engage such services to see what he had to offer did not 
occur to him. I sent him the last catalogue of the Architectural 
League, with a few lines saying that he evidently thinks because this 
country is young, that it still sleeps like a baby, so I thought it might 
interest him to see for himself just how wide awake they are here. 
I haven't heard from him since. . . . 

About thirty years ago a movement started in Germany, the 
main objective of which was the elimination of detail as much as pos 
sible. This big reaction was inevitable after the baroque with its 
overdecorativeness, followed by that era, especially noticeable in 
Germany, when there was difficulty in procuring enough sculptors to 
produce all the patriotic monuments which were springing up like 
mushrooms, or the period of revival of mythological statues of the 
Greeks and Romans. Most of them were so bad that the mediocre 
ones shone by comparison. The older sculptors were still under the 
influence of Thorvaldsen and Canova, who, after all, did no more than 
imitate the classics. These puppets are as discouraging to look at 
as are those monuments in the Genoa and Milan cemeteries, where the 
figures have been clothed in modern fabrics and laces, carefully copied 
in marble. All of which proves what a great and difficult art sculpture 
is and how poorly prepared the students are who enter its career. 

Last year when the National Sculpture Society arranged its 
memorable exhibition, it was the intention to set aside one room for the 
display of studies and sketches in drawing. Of more than two hun 
dred exhibitors only a dozen availed themselves of this opportunity. 
This lack of the fundamentals is one of the reasons why sculpture is so 
little appreciated. 

Since the Renaissance I believe I would have difficulty in naming 
half a dozen sculptors who knew how to make a portrait. Those few 
who did make good busts stand out so prominently that they are 
numbered among the best of all time Carpeaux, Houdon, Reinhold, 


Begas and Rodin. As for Rodin, I long for the time when a sound and 
sane appreciation of his work will understand how to differentiate be 
tween his sublime and his ridiculous achievements. The group of ad 
mirers of his early, magnificent work which had secured him a per 
manent position among the great ones who conceived the idea of 
assigning to him one entire pavilion at the 1900 French Universal 
Exhibition, did him a poor service, because in trying to fill it they 
stuffed it with everything, good, bad and indifferent, that he had 
ever done. Why not have selected his masterpieces and let him be 
remembered by those alone? 

When as students we went to Rome, we arrived with those pre 
conceived notions obtained in schools, which at first proved only a 
constraint to the admiration of what was really good, though in many 
instances we had our personal doubts and misgivings. We stayed on 
and talked these questions over among ourselves, which led to the 
discovery that our unbiased opinions were by no means so isolated as 
we had feared. This was our first rude shock as to the infallibility of 
those who, for what reason I cannot conceive, decree the fashion in 
art, as Worth, Poiret or Callot Soeurs of the Rue de la Paix are the 
arbiters of style in women's clothing. 

In the present tendency in sculpture in America I notice a leaning 
of a group of gifted young sculptors towards Byzantinism, if I may so 
caJl it. I believe it as great a waste of their energies, their time and 
their talents as it was for Thorvaldsen and Canova with their imita 
tions of dassidsm. In both, in my humble opinion, there is nothing 
on the part of the leader beyond a desire to be different, and an 
obliging servility on the part of the followers. It cannot lead to any 
thing good or useful because the fundamental conditions which created 
the huge monuments, like the Sphinx, the Niobe or the frieze of the 
Parthenon no longer exist. The artists of those times produced 
them, under the prevailing influence, religious or aesthetic or both. 
Hie result was stupendous because it was a homogeneous product 
and a monument to the times. To create such works after the lapse 


of several thousand years is like warming over a meal; no matter 
how well it may be cooked, I shall prefer plain bread and butter, and 
it would be more wholesome too. 

Since my early days at the academy in Berlin I have realized the 
futility of aesthetic discussions on art. We had so many of them during 
class and after. Some of them waxed so hot that a large sign was put 
up at the classroom, which read: " By high order: No discussion in art, 
religion or Richard Wagner." Also in Rome at the Trattoria delle 
Colonette, the pensionnaires of the German Government assembled 
each night to settle the important questions in art tinder the influence 
of Chianti. They ended in nothing more than a few scraps, into one 
of which I was drawn against my will, and it was my first intimation 
that it would be better to continue with my work and keeo my views 
to myself. 

Hans von Marees, the artist, who was really nothing more than an 
sesthetician, held his daily exchange of views on art in the Trattoria. 
They formed the foundation of a school which produced a Hildebrandt, 
Lenbach, BoecMin and Tuaillon, since which no one has had much suc 
cess with such discussions. But it must be admitted that these were 
the greatest artists Germany could boast of thirty or forty years ago. 

In America, where I have been able to follow the art movement 
during the past twenty years, I have noticed great changes. The 
first year after I arrived, Chartran, the portrait painter, was my 
neighbor in the studio building. His success had been phenomenal, 
due to his speed, his achievement at a likeness, but chiefly on ac 
count of Ms happy affiliations with a well-known art dealer. His star 
had then set, or was in the descendant, and one day he came in for a 
neighborly chat. 

He sat down and, after watching me for some time while I labored 
painstakingly over a detail, he said regretfully, "I wish I had kept at 
such methods and did not do as I did. Never crowd too much work 
into your day, for the quality is bound to suffer." 


His advice was sincere, but I did not need the warning. 

The public attitude has changed considerably toward visiting 
artists from abroad, my reference being chiefly to painters. A while 
ago the simple term "foreigner" was magic to many; and if an artist 
could secure a commission to paint one notable lady or gentleman, 
this would bring him in enough orders to keep him busy an entire 
season. Before the sitters discovered that they had been duped, the 
artist had disappeared. Although such cases are rare now and be 
coming more so all the time, I was much amused to be in close 
proximity to the happenings of the following incident: 

One morning the papers announced on the front page the arrival 
of an artist who had come over here to paint fifteen of our most beauti 
ful girls. This was a novelty. He was besieged with applications 
from willing sitters, as well as for interviews. My curiosity as to his 
work was aroused. 

One evening I attended a reception, where I was presented to the 
foreigner, who was just holding forth on his views to an admiring 
circle. I welcomed the opportunity to learn. Later, when he heard 
that I was an artist, he invited himself to see my studio. We ar 
ranged a little luncheon for the following Sunday, to which we in 
vited another painter whose work interested him. That Sunday 
in the rotogravure section of one of the papers appeared the repro 
ductions of three of his beauty series. They were dreadful. And it 
was very painful during the meal to juggle the conversation, so that 
neither art nor newspaper nor anything else was referred to which 
might have touched on, the delicate subject. My relief when it was 
over was pronounced. Immediately after this, he left for California 
on an important " err-and," and he also left a splendid studio behind. 
He is probably still "err-ing." 

Rarely does the artist know how his work affects the public, for 
he is not confronted with it as the musician is. Sometimes, however, 
little notes are received which are very amusing. Here is one: 

Corner in Mr. Fucks' Studio in New York 



Please pardon a stranger writing you. Today I went up to the 

R Gallery to see your picture and they told me it had gone to your 

studio, and that perhaps if I wanted to see it, you would allow me to do so. 

Briefly the picture solved a rather big difficulty for me when I saw it 
first. I have had a story waiting for a beginning and a satisfactory ending 
for nearly a year. When I saw your canvas, immediately the entire story came 

to me. By chance, I saw the original head in R 's window and it 

deepened all I had hoped for from it. Coming to a rather difficult point in 

my story today, I went up to R 's with the result as I have given it to 

you. Could I please see it again ? If I were able, I would buy the painting 
from you, but I am a horribly poor person and on but the very first rung of 
the steep ladder to attainment in writing. If I am asking an entirely im 
possible thing, I am sorry, but I would like to see the picture once more. 
I would very much appreciate permission to do so. 

Of course I wrote her that she might draw all the inspiration she 
wished from my sketch, and I sincerely hope it did not prove to be a 
disappointment after all. 



"... So rtms the round of life from hour to hour." (Tennyson.) 

WENTY years is a long time to a country so vigorous 
and enlightened, so accustomed to forge ahead as 
America is. Many artists of distinction have ap 
peared on its horizon. The one-sided partiality for 
foreign art has given place to a preference for native 
artists. It is right that this should be. Prejudice formerly obscured 
the vision to the merits of their own younger generation, just growing 
up. But this is no longer so. 

For half a century American artists lived abroad, where they re 
ceived more ready recognition ; but one af ter another, like the prodigal 
son, they returned to their native soil to the country of unlimited 
possibilities. From now on I believe they will take the lead in other 
branches, as they already have as illustrators. A few of these, like 
Maxfield Parrish, Charles Dana Gibson and Joseph Leyendecker, are 
in a class by themselves and have developed styles striking in their 

America was the first to use art to beautify its posters, which are 
in themselves an education. While riding in a crowded subway train 
the eye longingly seeks the relaxation denied to the body, and finds it 
in the advertisements, in which the fine arts and commerdalism are 
drawn together. The combination should prove to be helpful to both. 
England was quick to grasp its importance and followed right in line. 
Recently a campaign was inaugurated there for the improvement of 

their posters in railways, to which the leading artists lent their as- 



sistance. What was started during the war as a matter of patriotism 
is now continued for a cause no less important to posterity, the awak 
ening of aesthetic feelings in the masses. This is not so vastly different 
from the olden times, when art was enlisted to enhance the beauties 
of the Gospel and its teachings, and I hope I may not be guilty of 
profanation for so closely linking the two. 

New York has advanced another step in promoting intimate col 
laboration between the arts and crafts, which, because of its excel 
lence, will doubtless be followed all over this country as well as 
abroad. It is the founding of the Architectural League, an institution, 
whose members are architects principally, but which includes also 
sculptors, painters and men prominent in the allied crafts. Their ex 
hibitions compete with those of the National Academy and are per 
haps more generally patronized. The variety of their exhibits per 
mits of a rich display of form and color. Large architectural drawings 
and models are set off by precious tissues, the finest that home in 
dustry can produce. Skillfully wrought iron objects and statues in 
bronze are cleverly interspersed with exquisite glass, stained and 
moulded into delicate shapes. Fttmiture, fashioned in such perfection 
as to defy the criticism of the artist eye, is arranged against a back 
ground of modern tapestries in harmonious colors and of infinite 
variety. There are also drawings, murals and cartoons from the hand 
of the best artists in the land. 

There is an entire room reserved for the Prix de Rome students, 
who use every endeavor to make a feature of it. Recently the League 
extended its usefulness by inviting architects from other countries to 
join in making the exhibitions a more complete survey of the activi 
ties and progress in architecture during the year. Last year there was 
a splendid consignment from England, containing the work of some of 
the foremost men in the profession. Next year, according to an ad 
vance notice just sent out, there will be an architectural and allied 
arts exhibition at the Grand Central Palace, international in char 


These are important steps toward giving this country the coveted 

lead in art. 

Today America is fertile soil for the delicate plant, art, to grow 
into a tree of importance. It may even become the Renaissance of the 
twentieth century. Here is wealth, and quantities of it, which, al 
though in itself it has nothing to do with art, can and does create the 
opportunities for the study and practice of it, such essential factors 
in its growth. Here are also many appreciative people, increasing in 
number each day, who return from the Old World where they have 
noted what an important part art plays in culture and civilization. 
Religion invokes its assistance in reaching that tenderness within us 
which prepares us to listen to our better selves, to that voice we all 
hear faintly, but which is too frequently drowned in the clamor of 
everyday life. 

Here are the museums. Their rapid growth, due to the generosity 
of many high-minded collectors, makes me feel that the day is not far 
distant when they will be the shrine of art worshipers of the world. 
Visit the Metropolitan Museum on Sunday afternoons and be con 
vinced that art and beauty will be the gospel of the future, and the 
museum its place of worship. Its teachings can never be made a sub 
ject of controversy, because the facts are before our eyes, tangible 
and intelligible to the meanest understanding. But we must watch 
the high priests in whose charge we place the temple. 

To many people music is nearer, more comprehensible. The con 
stant increase in the number of classical concerts and in the size of the 
audiences, testifies to the fact that they are more and more becoming 
an institution, ready to take hold of one's mind and exert that influ 
ence which makes us better beings. And music is that form of art 
which reaches the heart through the ear instead of the eye. 

In the past fifty years or so there were many deflections from the 
big straight road. The Old World, in its desire to revive interest in 
art, indulged in many forms which, under as many isms, found small 
groups of adherents chiefly because to many of them contradiction is 

The Artist's Studio in New York 


a necessity. These deviations from the great movement are nothing 
more than little outlets, which will never alter the steady course of 
the majestic stream. 

In 1915, just before returning to America, I visited an art gallery 
in New Bond Street, in London, which had been hitherto crowded be 
cause it showed the modern and the newest in art. To my surprise 
the rooms were nearly empty. Near the entrance I recognized a 
couple who had been noted for their interest and support of the latest 
movements. I was curious to hear their comments, and was aston 
ished when the lady said to her husband, after having looked at a few 
of the exhibits, "Let's go away; I can't stand it any longer." 

Today we hear far too much about technics, surface and brush- 
work. It gives rise to the impression that these are the final aims in 
art. A cleverly brushed canvas stands an infinitely greater chance of 
being hung in an exhibition than one which expresses a thought, an 

In music the reaction has come. Not so very long ago a pianist 
with nothing beyond a brilliant technic, still had a fair chance of suc 
cess. Today the reproducing piano, with its faultless and even 
rendering of a composition, has taught us to appreciate the artist who 
can offer us something besides mere pyrotechnics. 

Because a man is a good landscapist does not make him a good 
judge of figure subjects, and to be compelled to submit such canvases 
to a jury, the majority of the members of whom are landscape paint 
ers, would seem to be unfair. Just as sculpture is passed upon by 
juries of sculptors, so should paintings be judged by two distinct types 
of juries. 

The brilliance and ease of Sargent's brush have produced a host 
of imitators; I could name a dozen well-known artists who have sup 
pressed their own individualities to cater to fashion and the fleeting 
humor of public taste. And while they might have succeeded super 
ficially, closer inspection reveals that that genius is lacking which, 
combined with untiring industry, is shown by every stroke of the 


master hand. They would have served art better had they remained 
true to themselves. 

The institution abroad of the master-studio seems to me worthy 

of consideration. Most of the academies there invite the prominent 
artists to accept a few pupils who wish to round out their education 
under such guidance. The tuition is free; the academy provides 
studios and material and a variety of teachers, all of first rank. To 
teach under such conditions is an honor that but few would decline. 

But all these matters are insignificant in relation to the main 
issue. It is like pushing a train in motion to make it go still faster. 
And this country does move. 

Looking back over the years, I experience the thrill of ascending a 
Mil on a bright spring day and being caressed by the gentle zephyrs. 
In the distance we observe the sun rising from behind the mountains, 
slowly enveloping the country in its rays. Its warmth pervades us. 
We would like to embrace the universe. Hope and happiness, those 
essential factors so often dimmed in our everyday life, return with 
renewed force and vigor, and we feel better because we have again 
worshiped at Nature's shrine Nature, the great friend, the great 

By and by the American will draw away from the material side of 
life. Having acquired all his worldly needs, he will drift toward the 
spiritual environments. He feels the impulse of bettering himself, 
and instinctively he does this by contributing to the betterment of 
the world- Hence men like Rockefeller, Morgan, Frick, Huntington, 
Altaian, Albright, and others, are mile-stones in America's existence. 
Highmindedness and generosity on such a scale have never before 
been known. There have been and there are rich people on the other 
side, rich indeed, but what they do for others is infinitesimal in com 
parison to what is done by Americans for America. The cause of the 
contrast is obvious and simple. Europe is old and lacks the super 
abundant confidence of youth, that impulse which is its mainspring 



and causes it to act without much premeditation. How otherwise 
would it have been possible that some philanthropists went so far in 
their generosity that they themselves suffer today? 

I wish I might glance into this world a hundred years hence and 
revel in the realization of a dream which I see, as an apotheosis of 
our present life * * in vision beatific ! ' ' 

Plaquette In the Pedestal of a Portrait 
Bust of a Lawyer 



Abbey Lodge, 180, 182 

Abreo Villa, 207, 208 

Adams, Edward Dean, 187, 203 

Aird, Sir John, 154 

Albany, Duke of, 148 

Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, 32, 37, 39, 

48, 50, 60, 64, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73. 75, 76, 

77, 78, 80, 81, 84, 97, 102, 115, 118, 119, 121, 

122, 123, 124, 155 
Albright, 246 
Alexander, Lady, 57 
Alexander, Sir George, 57 
Alexandra, Princess of Wales, 70, 71, 73, 75, 

77, 8 1, 82, 83, 84 
Alexandra, Queen, 132, 133, 134, 135, 162, 163, 

166, 172 
Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, Duke of Saxe- 

Coburg and Gotha, 67, 69 
Allen, Maud, 180 
Alma-Tadema, Lady, 174 
Alma-Tadema, Sir Lawrence, 48, 62, 78, 97, 

172, 173, 174 
Altman, 246 
Anderson, A. A., 218 
Angelo, Michael, 22, 62, 86, 94 
Anisfeld, Boris, 200 
Appleton House, Sandringham, 77 
Architectural League of New York, 234, 237, 

Art, Science, Music Medal, 161, 162 
Ashley, Maud, 151, 163 
Ashley, Wilfred, 156 
Asquith, Herbert, 175 
Asquith, Mrs. Herbert, 164 

B , Count of the Austrian Embassy, 159 

B 1 C , Doctor, 199 

Baden-Powell, General Sir Robert, 150, 151 

Baker, Sir George, 154 

Balcarres, Lord, M.P., 142 

Balcombe Place, 38 

Balmoral, 105, 157, 161, 164, 165 

Balzac, 167 

Bancroft, Sir Squire, 57 

Bayreuth, 148, *49 

Beal, Dr. Howard W. 203, 204 

Beatrice, Princess, IO2, 103, 108 

Beaux Arts Building, New York, 191, 218 

Beaux Arts Institute of Design, 223 

Begas, Reinhold, 237 

Beit, Alfred, 193, 194 

Belasco, David, 222, 223 

Bell, Mr. Moberly, 168 

Bell, Mrs. Moberly, 168 

Beresford, Lady Charles, 91, 182 

Beresford, Lord Charles, 91, 95 

Beresford, Lord Marcus, 74, 76, 80, 95, 96 

Beresford, Lord William, 95 

Berlin, 13, 107, no, 235, 236, 239 

Bernardelli, 90 

Bernhardt, Sarah, 8, 9, 10 

Birchoffsheim, Mr., 153 

Birchoffsheim, Mrs., 158, 159 

Birchoffsheim & Company, 153 

Bismarck, 14, 20, 86 T 179 

Blakelock, 203 

Blanford, Marquis, 51, 53 

Boecklin, Arnold, 239 

Booth, General, 202 

Bosco, 199 

Bottee, 30 

Botticelli, Sandro, 175 

Boucicault, Dion, 57 

Boughton, George, 174 

Bourget, Paul, 51 

Brahms, Johannes, n, 12 

Brakespeare, William A, in 

Brashier, Professor, 197 

British Artists, Royal Society of, 172 

British Museum, 137, 184 

Broderick, St John, 158 

Brough, 113, 126 

Brown, Harris, 113 

Buckingham Palace, 105, 169 

Burden, Mrs. James A, 198, 200 

Burne- Jones, Sir Edward, 32, 44, 47, 64, 92, 97 

Burne-Jones, Sir Phillip, 92 

Busoni, Feruccio, n, 46, 56 

Cadogan, Earl, Lord Lieutenant ofilreland, 
119, 121 

CaHfrom the Beyond, 233, 234 
Callot Sceurs, 238 
Calnaghi, Martin, 168 




Campbell, Mrs. Patrick, 56, 125 
Canaletto, 163 
Caoova, 237, 238 

Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh, 235 

Carpeatss, 227, 237 

Carrara, 22 

Carrel, Dr. Alexis, 201 

Caruso, 46 

Cassel, Maud, 153, 156 

Cassel, Sir Ernest, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 

157, 175 

Cavalieri, Lina, 181, 182, 183, 198 
Cellini, Benvenuto, 28, 48 
Chamberlain, Austen, 142, 143 
Charles, Prince of Denmark, 75, 78, 80 
diaries, Princess of Denmark, 75, 78, 80 
Chartran, 239 
Chopin, 63 
Christian of ScMeswig-Holsteia, Princess, 128, 

129, 132, 135, 148 
Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holsteia, Prince, 

108, 128, 177 
Churdiill, John, 50, 51 
Qrarchili, Lady Norah, 52 
Churchill, Lady Randolph, 49, 52, 53 } 54> 85, 

124, 125 

Churchill, Winston S., 50, 51, 210 
Clarence, Duke of, 48, 79 
Clarke* Sir Stanley, 37 
Clinton, Lord Edward Peliatn, Master of 

Queen Victoria's Household, 101. 104, 130 
Clyde, William R, 185, 188, 195 
Coburg, 147, 148 

Cobtug, Dudhess of, 77, 129, 146, 147 
Colebrooke, Lady, 198 
Connaiiglit, Duke of, 50, 136, 146, 157 
Constable, John, 163 
Cooper, Lady, 183 
Cooper, Sir George, 183, 184 
Coronation, 145, 163 
emanation Medal* 160, 161, 162, 166 
ComwalMs-West, Colonel, 124 
Comwallis-West, Mrs., 124, 125 
ComwaJii&-West 9 Geoige, 125 
Cosway, 194 
Crane, Walter, 47 
Crown Prince of Germany, 18 
Culm visit, 206, 208 
Garry, 222 

Cost, Sir Charles, Equerry to the Duke of 

Dalm, We&L, 3 


Davfe, Arthur, 1, 
De Btoiseoy Sir Maurice. BritMi Ambassador 


Be Ja Riie, Thc& & Co,, Ltd., 138,, 139 
De Martino, EdtardOj 165, i^ 
De Pacfamaim, Vladiimr, n, 46' 
De Vigneaa, Ommberlajii of &e Ducii^s of 

Coborg, 148 

Devonshire^ Duchess of, 121, 122 

Devonshire, Duke of, 119, 120 

Deym, Count Franz, Austrian Ambassador at 

the Court of St. James, 99, 151 
D'Herlys, Semoae, 231 
Di Lavaggi, Maichesa, 27 
Doria PampMIy, Prince, 27 
Drammoad, Sir Eric, 51 
Dudley, Lady Georgiana, 119 
Duncan, Isadora, 180, 181 
Dupr, 30 
Duveen, Sir Joseph, 184 


Edward VII, 67, 108, 129, 131, 132, 134, 135, 
J3^, 137. 138, 139, 140, 141. 142, 143, 144, 
148, 152, 155, 156, 157, 160, 161, 162, 163, 
164, 165, 166, 169, 171, 172 

Edward, Prince of Wales, 82, 83 

Eitel Frederick, Prince, 18 

Elkington & Company, 162 

Ellis, Alexandra, 31, 32, 37 

Ellis, Sir Arthur, 32, 37, 38, 39, 64 69, 70, 74, 

141, 146, 160, 172 
Ellis, Miss, 37, 64, 65 
Ephrussy, Mme. Maurice, 86 
Evans-Gordon, Sir William, M, P., 158 

Farquhar, Lord, Master of the King's House 
hold, 59, 60, 165 

Farquharson, Dr., M. P., 142, 143 
Faur<, Felix, 58 
Ferrieres-sur-Marne, 87 
Field, Mrs. Marshall, 195 
Fildes, Sir Luke, 174 
Frampton, Sir George, 97, 172 
Francis Joseph, Emperor, 7, 22, 26 
Frederick, Emperor, 19, 20, 236 
Frederick, Empress, 20, 137, 164 
Frederick, Sir Charles, 165 
French, Mr., 169 
Prewen, Moreton, 57 
Prey tag, Gustave, 31 
Prick, 246 

Priedheim, Arthur, n 

Porbes-Robertson, Sir Johnston, 42, 56, 198 
Po^cue Seymour, 37, 69, 73 
Fyfe, Duchess of (Princess Louise), 7?, 164. 
Fyfe, Duke of, 75 

jaUi-Curci, 231 
jainsborough, 98, 194 
jauthier, Theophile, 3 
jeorge of Greece, Prince, 119, 120 
jeorge V, 144 
3est, Morris, 208, 231 
jibson, Charles Dana, 242 
^f^^Ifred, 48, 49, 79 
Uoelet, Mrs. Robert, 121, 200. 201 
Godet, Robert, 121, 202 
147, 235 



Gordon, General, 91 

Gorlitz, Hugo, Manager of PaderewsH, 61 

Gorska, Madame, 61 

Gould, George, 185 

Gould, Kingdon, 185 

Gotdd, Marjorie, 195 

Greenfel, Lady Sybil, 52 

Griffiths, Colonel, 36 

Griffith, Ellis, M.P., 142, 143 

Guardi, 163 

Guiness, Benjamin, 198 

Guiness, Mrs., 198 


Halin, Rinaldo, 38 

Halle*, Chas. E., 47, 48 

Hals, Franz, 113, 114 

Hamilton, Sir Edward, 121 

Hanslick, Edward, 90 

Harcourt, Lewis (Lulu), 55, 57, I75 *76, 177* 


Harcourt, Sir William, 55 
Heine, 2 

Heinz, H. J., 176 
Hellmer, Prof. Edmund, 8, 13 
Hemphill, Alexander J., 209 
Henraux, 24 
Henschel, George, 157 
Henry, Prince of Prussia, 197 
Herbert, Sir Miclaael, 165 
Herbert, Lady, 165 
Hervey, Canon, 81 
Hervey, Mrs., 81 
Hervey, Miss, 8 1 
Hirsch, Baron, 153 
Hohenzollem Museum, Berlin, 19 
Holbein, Hans, 97 

Holford, Captain George, 37, 65, 115, Il6 
Holland House, 41 
Holt, Sir Herbert S., 209 
Homer, Winslow, 203 
Houdon, 237 

House of Commons, 141, 142, 145 
Howe, Earl, Lord in Waiting to Queen Vic 
toria, 104 

Rowland, Mrs., 89, 90 
Hughes, Edward Robert, 47, 48 
Hunt, Holman, 47 
Huntington, A. M., 246 
Huntington, H. E., 125 

Ikhester, Lord, 121 

International Society of Painters, Sculptors 

and Engravers, 127 
Irving, Sir Henry, 10, 42 
Iveagh, Lord, 198 

Jerome, Travers, 200 
Jeune, Lady, 158 
Jeune, Sir Francis, 158 

"ulian II, Pope, 22 
"uno, The Modern, 205 

Kahiocky, Count, Austrian Minister of For 
eign .Affairs, 29 

ato, Viscount, Prime Minister of Japan, 223 

Sombolton Castle, 40, 41, 42, IO2 

Slaw, Mark, 208 

Enoedler Galleries, 195 

Kjiollys, Lady, 73 

Knollys, Lord (Sir Francis), Private Secretary 
to Albert Edward and King Edward, 67, 

73. l6 4 

Knollys, Louvima, 67, 69, 73, 82 
Knollys, Miss, 70, 73, 116, 122, 163 
Kteisler, Fritz, n, 46, 59, 203 

Ladenburgh, Thalman & Company, 198 

Langham Artists Society, in 

L&szl6, Phillip, 97, 9%> 99 II2 W *& 

Lavery, Sir John, 127 

Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 163 

Leblanc Maeterlinck, Mme. Georgette, 221 

Lee, Linda, 195 

Lefebvre, Julian, ill, 172 

Leiningen, 99 

Leslie, Mrs. Jack, 54 

Lewis, Lady, 97, 172 

Lewis, Mrs., 58, 59, 97 

Lewis, Sam, 58, 59. 97 

Lewis, Sir George, Bart., 96, 97 

Leyendecker, Joseph, 242 

Lipton, Sir Thomas, 91, 165 

Lister-Kay, Lady, 38 

Liszt, Abbe, 46, 147 

Lloyd-George, David, 175 

London, 33, 35, 38, 4* 4^, 43, 44* 4^, 49. 6 4> 
69, 88, 98, 102, in, 114, 125, 126, 130, 135, 
142, 143, 145, 153, 159, *73> i&? 183, 193, 
195, 198, 203, 208, 209, 210, 224, 236, 245 

Londonderry, Marchioness, 119, 121 

Londonderry, Marquess of, Postmaster Gen 
eral, 119, 120 

Lowther, Mr. James, 119, 12 1 
Lucas, Seymour, 174 


M 's Magazine, 199 

Maeterlinck, 218, 220 

Makart, Hans, 12, 172 

Manchester, Duchess of, 38, 40, 42, 105, 153 

Manchester, Duke of, 39, 41 

Mancini, Antonio, no, HI, 126 

Margerita of Savoy, Queen of Italy, 31, 32, 33 

Marlborough, Duchess of, 51, 52, 53, 182 

Marlborough, Duke of, 51, 52, 53, 95 

Marlborough House, 69, 114, 137 

Marshall, Evelyn, 195 

Mary, Queen of England, 159, 161 

Matthews, Miss Ethel, 36 

Maud, Queen of Norway, 67 



Melchers, Gari, 199, 227 

Mensdorff, Count Albert, Austrian Ambassa 
dor at the Court of St James's, 98, 99, 100, 
165, 182 

Mesdag, W. H., 174 

Metal King, 193 

Metal Queen, 193 

Metropolitan Museum of New York, 137, 
175, 192, 203, 234, 244 

Meyer, Mrs. Carl, 32, 33, 35, 37, 38, 219 

Meyer & Mortimer, 169 

Mend, Sir Alfred, 175 

Mond, Dr. Ludwig, 175 

Montagu, Lady Alice, 39, 41, 49, 101, 102, 103, 
105, 106, 156 

Monte Parioli, 24. 

Morgan, John Herpont, 55, 201, 202 

Morgan, John Herpont, Jr., 158, 246 

Morgan, Junius, 202 

Marges, Lausanne, 61, 62, 64 

Mother and Child, 227 

Mother-Love, 25, 30, 49, 229 

Motley, 175 

Mountbatten, Lord, 156 

Mount Edgecombe, Lord, 165 

Munich Art Association, 30 

Muther, Private Secretary to Queen Victoria, 
101, 103, 108, 109 


Napoleon, 24, 160, 161 

National Academy, New York, 243 

National Gallery, London, 127, 236 

National Sculpture Society, 237 

Nehdim Mahmud Bey, 27 

New English Art Club, 48, 127 

New Gallery, 47, 48 

Newmarket, 99 

New York, 183, 188, 190, 192, 195, 196, 198, 

219, 223, 242 
Nicholas II, 87 

Normanton, Countess, 163, 164 
Normanton, Earl, 163, 164 
Nossfk, D., 62 

Osborne, 108, 129, 136, 146 

Otto of Austria, Archduke, 159 

Baar, Count Charles, 26, 27 

PaderewsM, 11, 33, 34, 46, 56, 61, 62, 63, 64, 

9, 97, 174 

Pagam Restaurant, 45, 46 
Paris, in 
Parlaghy, Irma, 15 
Pamsh, Maxfield, 242 
Pater, 193 
Pavlpwa, 231 
Persimmon, So, 81, 82 
Phillips, Sir Claude, 92 
Pinero, Lady, 56 
Pinero, Sir Arthur, 56 

Pisa, 22, 24 

Pless, Prince of, 125 

Pless, Princess of, 125 

Poiret, 238 

Poldowska, 221 

Pope, A., 209 

Poynter, Sir Edward, Bart., President of Royal 

Academy of Arts, London, 171, 172, 173, 


Pre-Raphaelites, 32, 44, 45, 48 
Primrose, Hon. Neil, 86 
Prince Consort, 132, 165 
Princess Royal, 67, 75 
Prix de Rome, 13, 24 
Probyn, General Sir Dighton, 73, 122, 137 

Queen's Hall, 45 

Raphael, 86 

Raeburn, 155 

Reid, Sir James, 165 

Reid, Whitelaw, 115 

Reliefs, 30 

Rembrandt, 87, 98 

Renaissance, 27, 190, 192, 237 

Revertera, Count, 26 

Reynolds, 98, 163, 195 

Richter, Dr., 175 

Rockefeller, 201, 246 

Rodin, August, 167, 227, 238 

Rome, 24, 25, 29, 30, 31, 33, 37, 42, 47, 65, 88, 

89, 102, 107, no, in, 175, 187, 229, 232, 238, 


Romney, 155 
Ronald, Mrs., 58 
Rosebery, Lord, 86 
Rosenau, Castle, 148 
Rosenifoal, Moritz, n 
Rosetti, 32, 44, 47 
Rothschild, Alfred, 85 
Rothschild, Anthony, 85 
Rothschild, Baron Alphonse, 86, 87, 88 
Rothschild, Baroness Alphonse, 88, 89 
Rothschild, Edouard, 88 
Rothschild, Evelyn, 85 
Rothschild, Leopold, 85, 86 
Rothschild, Lord, 48, 49, 85, 154, 155 
Rothschild, Mrs. Leopold, 85 
Roty, 30, Queen of, 148 
Roxburgh, Duke of, 119, 121 
Royal Academy, 32, 37, 39, 42, 47, 48, 49, 101 

in, 113, 127, 144, 145, 171, 17 2 
Rubinstein, Anton, n 
Rudolf of Austria, Crown Prince, 181 
RusMn, 94 
Russell, Henry, 218, 219, 220 

St. Cecilia, 30 

St. George's Chapel, 48, 128 



St. Helier, Lady, 158 

St HeHer, Lord, 158 

Sandringham, 67, 69, 70, 73, 75, 77, 79, 95 
99, 116, 117, 118, 119 

Sargent, John S., 32, 35, 47, 48, 95. 97, no, 
112, 114, 126, 127, 173, 245 

Sassoon, Reuben D. t 165 

Schaper, Fritz, 13, 20, 235 

Schiller, 148, 176 

Schuster, Frank, 58 

Sciarra, Prince, 86 

Scott, Lady, 180, 181 

Seipel, Monsignore, Prime Minister of Aus 
tria, 100 

Semon, Lady, 157 

Semon, Sir Felix, 157, 158 

Seravazza, 22 

Shannon, J. J., 47, 48, 174 

Shaughnessy, Sir Thomas, 209 

Sheridan, Clare, 54, 55, I75> 2 i> 2I2 2I 4 22 * 

Smith, George, 183, 190 

Smith, James Henry (Silent Smith), 183, 185, 
188, 189, 191, 192, 195, 200 

Solm, Count Bernhardt, German Ambassador 
in Rome, 26 

Solomon, J. S., 173 

Somni-Hcenardi, Marquis, 198 

Sorolla, Joaquin, 97, 199, 200 

Several, Marquis de, Portuguese Minister at 
the Court of St. James's, 151, 152, 182 

Spanish Academy, 24 

Speyer, Lady, 90 

Speyer, Sir Edgar, Bart, 90 

"Spy" of Vanity Fair, London, 180 

Stavordale, Lord, 121 

Steinbach, Dr. Emtt, 7, 12, 21, 22, 29 

Stone, Melville, 204 

Strathcona, Lord, 209 

Strauss, Johann, n 

Strauss, Richard, 208 

Sutherland, Duchess of, 182 

Swasey, Ambrose, 196 

Tamara, 227 

Teck, Prince Francis of, 159, 182 

Tennant, Sir Charles, 164 

Thomas, Mrs. Edward R. f 195 

Thorvaldaen, 237, 238 

Times, the London, 142 

Titian, 175 

Tosti, Francesco Paolo, 38, 45 

Trattoria, Vicolo delle Colonette, 25 

Tree, Sir Herbert Beerbohm, 57* 5& 

Tourbetsky, Prince, Paul, 199, 200 

Truth, London, 143 

Tuaillon, 230 

Twain, Mark, 200 

Tweeddale, Julia, Marchionness of r 158 

Tweedmouth, Lord, 155 

Vanbrough, Irene, 57 
Vanbrough, Violet, 57 
Vanderbilt, Consuelo, 51, 95 

Vanderbilt, Mrs. W. K, 198 

Van Dyck, 98, 113 

Van Norden, 202 

Velasquez, 98, 113, 153 

Venezia, Palazzo, 26 

Venice, 22 

Victoria and Albert Museum, 137, 146 

Victoria, Louise, Empress of Germany, 17 

Victoria Melitta, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 148 

Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein, 148 

Victoria, Princess of Wales, 67, 70, 75, 77, 84, 

122, 172 

Victoria, Queen, 35, 45, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 
106, 107, 108, 109, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 
133, 134. 136, 137, 150, 156, 157, 158, 160, 
161, 162, 164, 165 

Victorian Order Royal, 109 

Vienna, 4, n, 12, 29, 30, 181, 203, 235 

Villa Medici, 24 

Villarosa, 198 

Von Angeli, Heinrich, 104 

Von Baltazzi, Aristide, 181 

Von Baltazzi, Hector, 181, 182 

Von Bentinek and Waldeck, Linapurg, Count, 

Von Bruck, Baron, Austrian Ambassador in 
Rome, 26, 27, 29 

Von Bunsen, 179 

Von Deichman, Baron, 179, 180 

Von Deichman, Baroness, 179 

Von Glehn, 1 13 

Von Herkomer, Hubert, Prof., 135, 136, 137 

Von Hildebrandt, 239 

Von Home, Sir Robert, 209 

Von Lenbach, 15 

Von Mare"es, Hans, 239 

Von Moltke, 20, 86 

Von Pasetti, Baron, 29 

Von Pfyffer, 108, 130 

Von Reischach, 16 

Von Trauttenberg, Baron, 99 

Von Virchow, Prof., 21 

Von Wallot, 15 

Von Werner, 13, 14, 20, 24 


Wagner, Richard, 94, 239 

Wales, Prince of, 165, 166 

Wales, Princess, of 165, 166 

Walker, Mrs. William Hall, 55 

Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, 42, 54 

Wallace, Sir Edgar, 74 

Ward, Humphrey, 92 

Warner, W. C., 197 

Watteau, 193 

Watts, G. T., 54 

Weimar, 147 

Wernherr, Sir Julius, 193 

Wertheimer, Asher, 126 

Wertheimer, Mrs. Asher, 126 

Westminster, Duchess of, 125 

Westminster, Duke of, 125 

Whelen, Elsie, 200 

Whistler, 94 

White, General Sir George, 150 



WMte, Stanford, 184 
Wilde, Oscar, 152 

William I, Emperor, 86, 202, 236 

William II, Emperor, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20, 50, 

67, 120, I25 r 130, 133, 136, 199, 235 

Windsor, 88, 99, 101, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 

128, 141, 152, 177 
Witte, Count, 87, 88 
Wolseley, Viscount, 36, 49, 101, 102, 103 
Wood, Sir J. Leigh, 176 
Worth, 238 

York, Duchess of, 75, 78, 80, 123, 124 
York, Duke of, 75, 78, 80, 123, 124 

Ysaye, 46*56 
Ysnaga, Miss, 38, 42 

Ziegfeld, Florenz, 231, 233 
Zom, Anders, 156 
Ztdoaga, 199 


CD ;